


The Sergeant's Wife

by CreativeReading



Series: The Army Wives [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Assassination, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 130,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3448112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeReading/pseuds/CreativeReading
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of how Bucky Barnes fell in love and got married, only not in that order. Trigger Warning - Talk of past torture and abuse at the hands of Hydra as well as PTSD.</p><p>tumblr-creativereadingfanfiction</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing from Marvel. All the OCs are mine. Also, this is the second story in a series, so you might want to check out "The Captain's Bride" first.

**Ch. 1**

This is the story of how Sergeant James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes fell in love and got married.

Only not in that order.

* * *

He remembered hitting the snow. He remembered there was blood, a lot of it and all of it his. He didn't remember any pain, but perhaps that was shock. There was, of course, another deeper and more awful possibility. Maybe they had just wiped away the memory of the pain of losing his arm, just like they wiped away so many other memories.

He never told his handlers that the wipes weren't always perfect, that thoughts and memories would bleed in through the edges. He'd see flashes of images sometimes, a hand hanging limp and a single drop of blood rolling off a fingertip, neon lights reflected off a rain-soaked road, the flash of a red dress. He'd hear snippets of sounds, a choked-off scream, the whoosh of a car driving fast, the droning of a subway announcement. He'd smell a variety of scents, the acridness of a smoky fire, the earthiness of sweat, the repulsiveness of a urine-soaked alleyway. He'd remember the taste of things, the metal tang of his own blood in a fight, the revolting gruel they served him to keep up his strength, the bitterness of the rubber mouthpiece they used during the memory wipe.

But the worst was the memory of touch. Rough hands holding him down in the machine to wipe him. The metal restraints that bit into his skin as they kept him in place. The arc of pain that shot through him whenever his memory was wiped. The feeling of his fist against another person's jaw. The slicing of his skin when one of his targets tried to fight back.

Sometimes, the flashes of memories of his other senses were good. On an assignment, he'd see a woman smile, hear a child laugh, smell bread baking, taste a morsel of food he had stolen.

But, he couldn't recall any touch that hadn't been motivated by necessity, fear, or hatred. There was never anything kind or gentle.

00000

He couldn't do it. In the end, how couldn't complete his assignment. It had never happened before. They had sent him against Steve, not betting that their friendship together would trigger his memories, make them come flooding back. It had been their biggest mistake.

He drug Steve out of the water and left him, unconscious on the shore. A part of him thought he should stay but another part of him screamed,  _Get away. Get away. You've failed them. They are coming after you. They are going to destroy you._

He spent two days wandering around D.C. Every moment, more and more memories of his past came back to him, not only of his past assignments, but of his time before.

Before they turned him into a monster.

Before he was a killing machine.

Before he was The Winter Soldier.

When he was just Bucky.

When Steve was his best friend.

When Steve had been the little brother to him.

Only he wasn't so little anymore.

000000

He didn't know what guided him to go to the Smithsonian that day. He saw a banner out of the corner of his eye one morning, trumpeting the new Captain America exhibit. He didn't even remember how he found himself inside, reading about his own past. He had been a hero, the posters said. He had saved lives. He had helped people.

Who was he? The Winter Soldier or Bucky? Or worse, both? Two halves warring inside of the same body, each one demanding the other vacate.

After that, he spent months travelling relentlessly. He always felt hunted, was always waiting for Hydra to swoop in and capture him once again. They would wipe him again, turn him once again into a heartless assassin, force him to spill more blood so they could create their empire of domination.

During those months of wandering, he'd tried to recall specific memories from his past and he'd feel the panic set in, like the instant you realize you're drowning. And the worst part was that he didn't know if it was natural to forget your tenth birthday or your first kiss or the smell of chocolate or if it was something that had been stolen from him, ripped away when they wiped and rewiped his brain.

He had been frozen and unfrozen so many times over the years that part of his programming had been to mask any surprise he felt about the changes in clothes, technology, or attitudes that he encountered as he journeyed from town to town. Very quickly, Bucky learned to be a mute chameleon, hiding in plain sight. Most people instinctively looked away from him, his unwashed, lank hair, his filthy, ripped clothes, the thick stubble and smudges of dirt on his face. He survived with the marginalized, the downtrodden, never talking, barely eating, hardly sleeping. He existed but he didn't really live.

And then, one New Year's morning, Steve found him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 2**

Three weeks. It was three weeks of bliss. Steve had traveled before. He had seen wonders that had blown his mind. But he had never been with Stacy.

When he looked back on his life and he was asked to pinpoint some of his happiest moments, those three weeks of his honeymoon were always mentioned. The way her skin smelled like the sun after a day at the beach, the taste of salt at the nape of her neck, the way she looked as she walked around their hotel room wearing nothing but a smile, her musical laughter as she dissolved into a fit of giggles, the soft pressure of her fingertips massaging his scalp.

In his darkest hours, during the hardest days of his life, he would replay those three weeks with his wife on a loop in his mind, remembering what was worth fighting for, who was worth dying for. He was loved and accepted and, in the end, that was all that really mattered.

00000

The day after the wedding, they took Tony's jet to Madrid, staying in a lovely hotel near the Prado Museum. They spent hours wandering the city, eating tapas, drinking sangria filled with fruit, whiling the stuffy summer afternoons away in their hotel room, listening to a different band play every night in the bars and clubs that lined Calle Huertas and the surrounding streets. They spent the better part of one day just at the Prado and Steve must have stood in front of "Las Meninas" by Diego Velázquez for a good thirty minutes, trying to memorize every brush stroke, every curve and line on the canvas.

Then it was off to sightseeing in Sevilla and, after that, sunbathing in Ibiza. After Spain, they made their way to Italy, hitting nearly every museum in Rome, dining in Florence, marveling at the cathedral in Assisi, shopping in Milan, picnicking in a small park in Lake Coumo region.

They ended their time in Paris. Steve remembered the last time he was there, over a year ago. He had been so lonely, so resentful of the happy couples that walked by him. And then, there he was with the love of his life. They spent two entire days at the Louvre and Steve still felt like he hadn't gotten to see all that he wanted. He promised himself that they'd return one day and see all of the paintings that he'd missed.

As Steve and Stacy boarded Tony's jet to go back home, Steve shook his head. He wasn't ready to go back, to break the spell he'd been under. New York, The Tower, S.H.I.E.L.D., everything in their old life seemed like some kind of odd dream. To Steve, the only thing that seemed real was the way Stacy smiled at him, the feeling of her fingers laced in his. Nothing else seemed to matter.

00000

Hours later, Steve and Stacy waited hand in hand for the Tower elevator to take them to their floor, their luggage next to them.

"I can't believe we're back already," Stacy said.

"I know. We should have planned for a longer trip. I should have asked for more time off," Steve said, regret tingeing every word.

She gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Hey, it's fine, honey. Really, it is. We had to come back to reality sooner or later."

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too. You know, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. I haven't had a summer off work since I was fourteen years old."

Steve smiled. "You deserve it. And, I know you'll be busy. We've got the move coming up."

Stacy nodded. All of her belongings had been deposited in boxes in Steve's apartment the day before the wedding. There was no real need to unpack since they were planning on moving a few doors down to the new three bedroom apartment that Tony had given them.

"I know it's only a few feet away, but it's going to be a pain," she sighed.

"Good thing I'm an expert at heavy lifting," he teased.

"That's true," she said with a giggle.

The elevator doors opened and Steve gestured for Stacy to go first, her wheeled luggage trailing behind her. He had argued that he should carry both bags, but she just shook her head and said she was fine.

They reached the door to Steve's apartment and Stacy looked over at him expectantly, waiting for him to place his hand on the device to unlock the door.

"You do it," he said.

She cocked an eyebrow, but obeyed, her face lighting up with joy as it opened for her.

"You're my wife. You've got the same rights and privileges as I do at the Tower," he said. "This is your home as much as mine," he said. "Well, until we move."

She started to step inside, but he shook his head. "No, I want to carry you across the threshold."

"Sweetie, you did that on our wedding night. And at every hotel room throughout Europe."

"It's tradition," he said firmly.

"Okay, okay," she said and he scooped her up and carried her across the threshold.

"I love you, Mrs. Rogers," he said, as he still held her aloft, walking through the apartment.

"And I love you, Mr. Rogers," she said saucily, her fingers caressing his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

00000

Later on that afternoon, Steve woke up and quickly donned a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He padded quietly from their bedroom to the dining room, not wanting to wake his sleeping wife. His internal clock was still a bit off from the time change from flying back from Europe earlier that morning. He was not looking forward to work the next day. He decided to rummage through his emails to try to suss out if he'd be staying in for a few more days or going back out on assignment.

Steve regretted that decision.

00000

Fifteen minutes later, Steve gave a start as he felt fingers massaging his shoulders as he sat hunched over his laptop shifting through the hundreds of work emails he received in the weeks he was gone on his honeymoon.

"Hi, sweetie," Stacy said, leaning over, placing a kiss on his neck, and then hugging him from behind. "Any good news?"

"Not really. I've got to go in the next few minutes. Some type of urgent mission. It'll just be for a few days," Steve promised Stacy. The email he saw said that he was needed for an assignment in D.C. When he turned on his phone, he found several texts from Natasha and Director Fury, so it seemed rather important.

"Alright," she conceded, taking the seat next to him. "You know, I checked my texts and Erica and Michael have been begging me to go on this camping trip with them. Maybe I'll tag along."

"That's the spirit. Back to nature. Fresh air. Hiking. You'll love it," Steve said off-handedly as he got up and went to the bedroom to began to repack all of his clothes for the assignment.

Stacy followed him, helping him refold his clothes. "I hate the outdoors. Bugs, dicey bathroom situations, snakes. . . Ugh! But it'll be nice to see them. I haven't gotten to hang out with Erica much since they got married."

Steve stopped his packing for a moment to lean over and kiss his wife. "I am going to miss you," he said huskily, his hand cradling her cheek.

She smiled, leaning into him. "Me too . . . . " After a moment, she shook her head. "Oh, I Erica texted me that there's dodgy cell phone reception up there, so I probably won't be able to call you until I get back."

"I understand," Steve said, gathering up the last few things he needed. "I found out that Peggy is living in D.C. I think I'm going to try to see her if I can. I should have as soon as I woke up nearly three years ago," Steve shook his head. "I don't know why I didn't. Fear maybe. Regret."

He was looking forward to telling Peggy about Stacy and showing her their wedding photos. He was mad at himself that he hadn't gone to visit her sooner.

"You take care," Stacy said, "I love you."

"I will and I love you, too," he said as looked at his wife's anxious face. He lifted up her chin, crouching down a bit to look at her, eye to eye. "Don't worry. It's a standard assignment. I'll be back before you know it," Steve reassured her, tugging her closer for one more kiss.

It would be nearly six months before they were together again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note- I've decided not to reiterate the entire plot of "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" in the following chapter. I'm assuming that most people have already seen the movie and I don't want to repeat what you've already watched. If you haven't seen the movie and/or you'd like some clarification, please leave me a comment. I can explain anything that might be unclear.

**Ch. 3**

"Secure channel seven," Steve said into his mic.

"Seven's secure. So, how's Stacy?" Natasha asked as they began cross-checking their equipment for the rescue mission. There was a group of hostages they needed to save on a S.H.I.E.L.D. ship called Lemurian Star. "I bet she didn't like the fact that you got called away right after you got back from your trip."

Steve grinned as he put his comm device in his ear. "Yeah, she was a little upset."

"Coming up over the drop zone, Cap," the pilot announced over the intercom.

"How was the honeymoon?" she asked.

"Great," Steve said vaguely. He didn't want to go into too many details in front of the other operatives. He already saw Agent Rumlow laughing and joking with another agent about what Natasha had said so far.

Steve secured his helmet and got ready to make the dive into the ocean.

"Did you even leave the hotel room?" Natasha teased.

Steve gave her a wink. "Most days," he said before jumping off the plane.

0000

Once he had cleared the deck of all hostile targets, the rest of the operatives and Natasha landed on the ship. "So, what about kids?" she asked, disengaging her parachute and walking beside him.

"Nat, we literally just got married," Steve said, shaking his head.

"You're not getting any younger, Steve."

"First secure the engine room, then sort out my domestic life," Steve said, but he couldn't keep the smile out of his voice.

"I'm multitasking," Natasha protested before leaping down to the next level.

0000000

The next few days sped by. The revelations about the truth about S.H.I.E.L.D. rocked Steve to his core. After getting out of the hospital after his last confrontation with the Winter Soldier, he tried calling his wife a dozen times, but he still couldn't get ahold of her. Once he was released, Sam drove him to the coordinates that Fury sent them.

While waiting to speak with Fury, Steve just sat there, his head in his hands, still reeling from all that had happened, finding out that Hydra had been a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. for so long, the true purpose of Project Insight. They had taken down the hellcarriers and uploaded all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets onto the internet. It was all over.

He leaned back on the couch, an oppressive exhaustion coating his body that wasn't physical at all. No wonder they had such a hard time pinning down the Hydra informant in New York last year. How many agents had been working against them, thwarting them at every turn? And which traitor had helped Richter kidnap Stacy?*

And then, there was Bucky.

The shock of seeing his best friend turned into a ruthless assassin was almost more than Steve could handle. The guilt had settled on him like a blanket. They should have searched more, tried harder to recover Bucky's body after he fell from that train. At the time, there had been a huge uproar about putting more enlisted men at risk to find a lifeless corpse. In the end, Steve had reluctantly agreed, not bearing the thought of having a soldier die in an attempt to bring back Bucky's body.

Because no one could have survived that fall.

But Bucky did.

"You okay?" Sam asked next to him.

Steve nodded. He was surprised at how much he had grown to trust and rely on Sam in such a short amount of time. Steve didn't dare try to contact Tony or Bruce or anyone else during their takedown of Hydra, fearful of tipping off the organization and putting his friends at risk.

A door opened and Natasha walked out of the main office in the compound. "You guys want to come in? Fury wants to talk to you."

Steve got up and followed Natasha into a large, well-appointed office, Sam trailing behind him. They were in one of Fury's secret bases. Steve had the feeling that there were dozens of them scattered around country. Before, he would have said that Fury was paranoid. Now, he was just grateful that they had somewhere to lie low for a while.

"How you holding up, Cap?" Fury said, leaning back in the chair behind his desk. For some reason, he seemed older to Steve now. He realized that Fury had to be well into his sixties and what he'd been through in the past few days was more than most men could bear at any age.

Steve thought about lying. Instead, he shrugged. "Not so good."

"That's to be expected. So, what are your plans now?" Fury asked.

"I'm going to find Bucky," Steve said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"We're going to find him," Sam said and Steve had to smile. Sam's offer to help him find Bucky had been unexpected and more than welcome.

"I see. Well, that kind of loyalty is to be commended. Especially now," Fury said.

"What are you going to do, sir?" Steve asked.

"I'll be honest. A part of me wants to just stay dead. Wander the earth. Start over again. But, I swore an oath. An oath to follow the legacy of a Miss Peggy Carter. So, I'm going to weed out every single disloyal, Hydra-loving traitor from this organization and rebuild it again. To me, the best way to honor the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. would be make sure it was the kind of agency that they'd be proud of. And I'd like you to be a part of that rebuilding project, Rogers," Fury said.

"Sir, I've got to find Bucky. I've got to find him before Hydra does. He saved me from drowning. There's still a part of him that remembers who he is. If Hydra gets ahold of him again . . . ," Steve said.

"I kind of thought you'd say that. Natasha decided to do a little digging," Fury said.

Natasha stepped forward. She handed Steve a file written in Russian. "This is every scrap of information I've been able to find about The Winter Soldier."

Steve smiled. "Thanks, Nat."

She gave him a little grin. "No problem."

"So, you're staying?" Steve asked her.

"I thought of going. I did. Everyone can now see every drop of red in my ledger by just logging onto their computer. I wanted to run away and hide. But, Fury's right. I've got to choose a side. I've got to finally make a stand. So, Clint and I are going to help Fury get S.H.I.E.L.D. back on track," she said.

"How about this? Take a leave of absence," Fury suggested to Steve. "Hell, it's not like we have any funding to pay you anyhow," Fury chuckled, shaking his head. "When you find Bucky, your job will be here waiting for you."

"Thanks, sir," Steve said.

"You're welcome. And good luck. You're going to need it. Something tells me that he's not going to want to be found," Fury said.

00000

A few days later, he received a frantic call from Stacy.

"Steve!?" she yelled into the phone when he picked up.

"Yeah, it's me, sweetie," Steve said.

"What happened? I just got back from the camping trip and there are reporters all around the Tower. I saw on the news that there's no more S.H.I.E.L.D. and that Hydra had infiltrated it and that you were in this horrible battle in D.C. Are you alright?" she asked desperately.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm okay. Really, I am. Stacy, the person I fought in D.C. It was Bucky."

"Your friend from the forties? How is that even possible? I thought he died in the war."

"So did I. Hydra brainwashed him. Used him as an assassin. They froze him and periodically took him out and programmed him to kill for them. He didn't . . . he didn't know what he was doing," Steve took a shuddering breath and for the first time, he allowed himself to truly cry over what had happened to his friend.

Stacy didn't say anything for a while, letting Steve grieve. After a minute or so, she asked softly, "Steve, where are you? Why aren't you here?"

"I've got to find him, Stacy. He took off and I don't know where he is, what kind of condition he's in. I've got to save him. He could have killed me, but he didn't. In the end, he saved my life. I need to help him."

"Where are you?" she asked again.

"Texas. Austin, actually. We got a lead that he might be out here."

"We?"

"There's another veteran, Sam. Sam Wilson. He helped me and Natasha do what we needed to defeat Hydra's plans. He's helping me find Bucky," Steve explained.

"Okay. Um, I'll find the next flight out there. We'll find him together," Stacy said.

"No. Stacy, you can't. I don't know what kind of condition Bucky will be in. If he's violent . . ."

"You're my husband. We're in this together," she said in a determined tone.

"No . . . Stacy, you don't understand. You are the last good thing in my life. Everything, S.H.I.E.L.D., Bucky, everything has been stripped away. If anything happened to you . . . I couldn't bear it," Steve's voice broke.

"Alright. I understand. I do. Go. Find him. And then, come back to me."

"I love you," he said.

"I love you more."

"Not possible," he replied. "Thank you. For being there when . . . when I needed you."

"Always."

000000

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Steve and Sam crisscrossed America, always a step behind, always just missing Bucky.  _You'd think a man with a metal arm would stand out_ , Steve thought bitterly as he came to yet another dead end.

From the few leads that they did find, it seemed as though Bucky was going from one homeless encampment to another, living at the edges of society. It broke Steve's heart to see the wretched conditions some people were living in, bringing back to mind the harshness of The Great Depression. He began donating thousands of dollars to local food banks and homeless shelters as he went along, desperate to find some way to alleviate the suffering he saw as he and Sam searched across the country for Bucky.

Steve kept in touch with his friends and family via Skype, calling Stacy every night and everyone else at least once a week. His niece and nephew, Daniella and Mateo, were always excited to get a call from him. Steve was shocked at how quickly they changed. Mateo was starting second grade and little Daniella was beginning a local preschool three days a week. The baby, Esteban, was starting to recognize him, his little eyes lighting up whenever he saw his "Uncle Steve" on the screen.

Tony yelled at him for not calling him when S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed, but finally understood when Steve explained that it was for his own safety and the good of the mission. Tony promised to watch over Stacy. Steve felt nervous leaving her for so long, but at the end of every call, she pushed him to keep looking, to find his friend.

00000

In late September, he tried called his friend, Josh, once again, but it just went to voicemail. He shook his head, frustrated that he couldn't get ahold of him. He'd been able to maintain contact with the rest of his friends, but for some reason, Josh hadn't returned his calls or emails.

The next day he asked Stacy about it, but she just shook her head. "Don't worry about it. It'll be fine."

Steve hadn't been married for long, but he had learned that "it's fine" usually meant anything but.

"Tell me," he insisted.

"You don't need to be worrying about that now. Just focus on finding Bucky."

"Stacy," he said sternly.

"Alright. You know how S.H.I.E.L.D. had files on me and all of our friends?"

"Yes."

"When you uploaded that information, it all became public knowledge. Our social security numbers, our backgrounds, everything," Stacy explained.

"Oh," Steve said. He hadn't even thought about that. Monica, Erica and Michael hadn't said a word when he called them.

"So, everyone's been dealing with identity theft left and right. Tony's been really good at helping us sort through everything, but it's still been a pain. And, Josh, well, I guess he told his employer he was working on some financial documents when he was really out with you and Michael watching baseball games last summer."

"Oh, no," Steve said, the ache in his stomach growing stronger.

"There's a guy at his work who's been angling for his job. He sifted through hundreds of documents to find out what Josh did. He told Josh's boss and Josh got fired." Stacy took a deep breath. "Then, there was the fact that he had cheated on me when we went out years ago. His new girlfriend found that S.H.I.E.L.D. report on-line and broke up with him the next day."

"No wonder he's mad at me."

"Look, Steve. It's fine. Tony got him a new job working at one of his subsidiary companies with better pay. As for the girlfriend, to be honest, I really never liked her anyway. She was really shallow and mean-spirited. My guess is that she was just looking for a reason to break up with him. Just give Josh a few more weeks and I'm sure he'll turn around."

"I hope you're right," Steve said. He'd seen all of the fallout from the S.H.I.E.L.D. information that he'd published on-line nearly every day when he turned on the news, but this was the first time the ramifications of what he did hit so close to home.

00000

It was early December when Steve almost gave up the search. He called Stacy at his usual time and noticed that she wasn't there. She had been upset, but understanding when he had missed Thanksgiving and he was worried how she'd take the news that he'd probably miss Christmas.

Finally, about fifteen minutes late, he noticed that she had finally connected to Skype. He called her and saw right away that something was wrong. She seemed agitated and most of the lights were off in the apartment.

"Doll, could you turn some more lights on? I can barely see you."

She nodded and his eyes widened when he saw her properly. There was a red mark on her cheek and it was clear that she had been crying.

"What happened?" he asked urgently.

"It's nothing," she lied.

"What happened?" he demanded.

She took a deep breath. "Things are just a bit . . . rough," she said evasively.

"What happened?" he repeated.

"It's my own fault," she said.

"Stacy, you've got to tell me."

"There was some T.V. pundit. He was going on and on. Saying that you were Hydra," she explained.

"That's ridiculous. All that information that I put on the internet . . . it proves I had nothing to do with Hydra."

"He said that you scrubbed your involvement in Hydra from the files. He's just a crazy conspiracy theorist . . . but . . ."

"But what?" Steve said urgently.

"He stirred a bunch of people up. They'd been protesting at the Tower for days. Normally, I just borrow one of Tony's cars from the underground garage and avoid them entirely. But . . . today I decided to take the subway. When I came back, a group of them surrounded me. They were yelling and screaming. One of them threw a bottle. It hit me," she said shakily.

"That's it. I'm coming home right now," he said.

"No . . . you can't. If it were my sister, Amanda, or Monica or Erica, I couldn't live with myself if I didn't find them. Bucky is your brother in every way but blood. You can't give up now."

"I'm not putting you at risk," he said.

"You aren't. Tony came out in his Iron Man suit and they scattered like flies. He said he'd track every single one of them down if they ever came within a mile of the Tower again."

"I should come home. I should be the one protecting you," Steve insisted.

"No. Please don't. You'll regret it the rest of your life you don't find Bucky now. Please, please promise me that you'll see this through."

Steve stared at Stacy for a long moment, his emotions warring inside of him. "Alright. But, I'm going to talk to Fury. See if he can put some full-time protection on you."

Stacy tensed. Steve knew that she hated being shadowed by a bodyguard, but he couldn't bear to have her unprotected.

"No, no way. I can't live like that, Steve. I just can't. I put up with it for months when we were engaged, but I can't do that again," she insisted.

"Stacy . . . " Steve began.

"I felt like a prisoner, Steve. Do you have any idea what it's like to be followed every moment of your life? I know you want to protect me, but please, please understand that I can't live that way again."

"Alright, but please be careful," he said.

"I will. JARVIS is keeping an eye out on me and Tony's here at the Tower at least two or three times a month."

"I love you. You know that, right?" he asked.

"I do. And I love you, too. I miss you, sometimes so much I can barely breathe, but Steve . . . . if you don't keep looking for Bucky, you'll never forgive yourself," she said.

"You really are wonderful."

"Right back at you," she said before logging off.

Steve stared at the blank screen. He didn't know how much longer he could do this. If it were just him, he would search for Bucky for years. But, despite all her protests, he could see the toll it was taking on Stacy. He knew he should be there, with his wife.

As he laid down in bed, he sighed. One more month. That was it. He couldn't keep doing this to her. He had made a promise, a vow to be her husband and he had abandoned her. He could see the strain of their separation on her face, hear it in her voice.

 _One more month and then, no matter what, I'm going home,_  was Steve's last thought before falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes-
> 
> 1\. So, as you can see, there are a few changes from Captain America:The Winter Soldier to fit into the confines of this story.
> 
> A. The events in the movie happen in early July to line up with the timeline of "The Captain's Bride".
> 
> B. Natasha doesn't try to set Steve up, since he's already married. For those of you who were wondering, this also means no kiss between Natasha and Steve while trying to avoid suspicion.
> 
> C. Natasha Romanoff and Nick Fury stay and try to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. instead of leaving.
> 
> 2\. Remember the roof scene with Agent Sitwell? I rewrote that scene, but the chapter ran long and I cut it. If you'd like the tiny bonus scene, let me know in a comment and I can reply with it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. 4**

Bucky made sure that he never stayed more than a week in any one place, in any one town. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Hydra was after him, coming to claim him. He wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't going to become that thing again. He could feel him, the Winter Soldier, in the back of his brain, buzzing about, telling Bucky to be careful, telling Bucky that they were going to get him, strap him down and wipe him again and again until there was nothing left.

And Bucky knew he was right.

So, Bucky lived on the fringes of society. He didn't wash his face or hands, rarely bathed or showered. He lived in homeless encampments in the worst parts of cities, filthy places filled with rats and lice, swimming in addiction and disease. For a while, he tried sleeping by himself, far from others, in barns or under bridges, but he found that it attracted unwanted attention. For some reason, people who were moved to pity or willing to try to help an individual seemed to turn a blind eye to a large group of people down on their luck.

He ate from dumpsters, from food banks, from wherever he could. He had lived through The Great Depression; he was no stranger to not knowing where his next meal was coming from. He was always hungry, though, a persistent gnawing in his gut, an ache that never seemed to abate; the serum that gave him strength also demanded an enormous amount of fuel.

During the day, he'd find a local library and read for hours. He avoided the internet, mostly. He knew that too many searches on one particular topic or another would alert his former captors. But, books, magazines, newspapers were all fair game. He read about the past. He read about the present. He tried to fill in any gaps in his recovering memories. He read about himself. He read about Steve. He read about S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra and senate hearings and coverups.

He kept to himself. He never spoke. Not once. Not in the entire six months since D.C. He didn't speak because he remembered. He remembered telling Pierce that he knew Steve. That he knew the man on the bridge. And because of what he said, they had wiped him again and sent him out to kill his best friend.

And, he nearly did.

Bucky wasn't going to let that happen again.

So, he was silent.

It was remarkably easy to be invisible when you're silent. He traveled from town to town, city to city, hopping on passing freight trains. There were no records of his journeys. No ticket sales, no train agents to remember him. No way to follow him, no way to trace him. He knew about surveillance cameras and made sure to always avoid them, twisting out of view when necessary. He was a ghost, floating through life, leaving no mark on the world.

000000

Bucky only got involved with other people twice during the entire time he was gone. The first time, a group of young punks were circling an older homeless woman on a deserted street one afternoon. She was pushing a shopping cart full of all of her worldly possessions and they followed her, taunting her. Soon, they stopped her cart and began to circle her, saying horrible, cruel things to the poor woman as she began to sob, hot tears streaming down her dirty face.

Bucky saw what was happening. It killed him to see it. He wanted to stop them immediately. But the Winter Soldier cautioned against it.

 _They'll find you. You know they will. If you cause a scene . . . if you attract attention . . . they'll find you and take you back. Do you want to go back? What will they do to you when you go back? How much more blood will you soak your hands in? How many more lives will you take? They'll erase every last bit of you. No more Bucky. Just a shell. Just a machine._ Bucky could hear the vicious whispers playing again and again in his brain.

But finally, he could take what he was watching no longer and he descended on the menacing group of ruffians. In less than a minute, they were all groaning on the ground.

He left town within the hour.

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The second time Bucky got involved was late one night in some nameless, sprawling city. Nighttime was the worst for Bucky. It meant that the nightmares would come. They would come and torment him. They would come and eat away at the precarious hold on his sanity, on his reasoning. Most nights he walked the city until he was completely exhausted. Exhaustion meant that sleep came quicker. Some nights, if he was really, really lucky, exhaustion meant that he wouldn't dream at all.

So, he'd walk. For miles and miles. Thanks to his programming, he'd map out the city in his brain, so he'd never get lost and he'd end up back with the rest of the desperate people he'd find, and huddle on the cold concrete on a piece of soiled cardboard, pulling his ripped hoodie around him.

One night, he saw a young woman take a shortcut into an alleyway across the street. The two burly men who were walking in front of him saw it, too. One of them looked at the other, elbowing his friend in the ribs. "Oh, this is going to be too easy. We're about to have ourselves a little fun."

Without thinking, ignoring the frantic screams of the Winter Soldier in his head, Bucky followed the pair into the alleyway where they had cornered the woman, telling her about all the vile things they were going to do to her.

Bucky came up behind them and briefly closed his eyes, letting his mind go blank, allowing the Winter Soldier take over. He saw what he was doing, but he couldn't feel anything. No pain, no remorse, no emotion at all. His body was on automatic, following the programming that had been imprinted in his brain. When he left the two men a few minutes later, they were a pile of broken bones, jagged cuts, and bruises, screaming for their mothers, crying out in sheer agony.

He was gone before the young lady had a chance to thank him.

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Bucky's memories came back to him in fits and starts. One moment, he'd remember throttling the life out of a target, the man's large hands uselessly clawing at him, tears streaming down the target's reddened, sweaty face. The next moment, he'd remember being a kid and playing stickball with Steve in the middle of the street, throwing the ball nice and easy for him, but not so he'd notice.

Some memories made him smile. He could almost taste the cinnamon in his mom's apple pie, almost taste the caramelized sugar on the crust. He could almost feel the warmth of it on his tongue as he snuck a bite while it was supposed to be cooling on the window sill.

Some memories were so horrific that he'd double over and retch again and again. He'd find a corner and curl up, closing his eyes tightly, trying to ride out the waves of panic and anguish.

Ever since D.C., his memories came steadily back to him, the years of being used by Hydra, the years of being made into an emotionless assassin, woodenly killing again and again. He tried to focus on his time before. Before he joined the Army. When he and Steve were the best of friends. When he had a family. When people loved him.

Before he killed.

One day, he tried to count up every single life he had taken. The worst thing was, it was impossible. In D.C. alone, how many fatal car accidents had he caused? How many stray bullets had struck down innocent bystanders? Even if he could one day remember all of his targets' names, see their faces once again, he knew that there had to be dozens more.

Collateral damage. Such a clean phrase for such a dirty thing.

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It was New Year's morning. Steve had counted down the New Year the night before with Stacy over Skype, blowing each other fervent kisses through the webcam. It had been midnight in New York and only nine p.m. in L.A.

Steve tried to watch the nightly news; the reception was so bad on the hotel T.V. that he could barely make out what was happening. It was disheartening. There never seemed to be anything good, just more war and destruction.

He was in bed by ten that night. The mattress was too soft and it took him nearly an hour to fall asleep after tossing back and forth. Around midnight, he woke up and heard a few rowdy revelers in the hotel room next to him, but he just turned over and went back to sleep.

He woke up before six. He looked around the dingy hotel room, wincing at its shabbiness. He didn't mind; Steve had grown up poor and in rougher conditions than this, but he felt bad for Sam in the next room over. At the beginning of their search for Bucky, they had stayed in decent hotels, nothing fancy, but they were clean and comfortable.

But Steve's funds were rapidly dwindling.

He had no paycheck from S.H.I.E.L.D. and the merchandising money was drying up, too. Not many kids wanted Captain America dolls anymore it seemed. Most of his bank accounts and financial holdings were frozen during the Congressional investigation into how Hydra had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. It amazed Steve how quickly the public had turned on him, had vilified his actions. He knew that he had his share of supporters, but a lot of people felt like he abandoned them when he disappeared and went to look for Bucky.

Steve and Stacy's financial situation was so dire that it was lucky that they owned their apartment or Stacy probably would have had to move back in with Monica. Six months of hotel rooms and three meals a day eaten in diners or fast food restaurants had taken their toll on their dwindling funds. Sam had offered to pay his own way, but Steve wouldn't let him. It was bad enough that Sam gave up six months of his life to search for Bucky with him, he shouldn't have to pay for it, too.

Steve knew that he could always ask Tony for money. He'd give it to Steve readily, without even a second thought. A few thousand dollars was pocket change from him. But, Steve couldn't bring himself to do it. It stung his pride too much that he wasn't providing for himself and his wife.

The last few Skype calls to Stacy had been tense. She had refused to pay the money to fly out to see her parents at Christmas, choosing to make the eleven hour drive to their Michigan home by borrowing one of Tony's cars. Steve knew that things were tight, but it killed him to see how exhausted she was after the trip. They had argued and made up, but the underlying tension was still there, still buzzing under the surface.

He got up and stretched. He looked back at his empty bed and tried to imagine Stacy, curled up like a cat, burrowing under the covers, her hair splayed across the pillow. They only had three weeks as husband and wife and it hadn't been enough. Not nearly enough.

Steve missed his wife so much it was like a constant pain, an ache in his chest. One more week and no matter what, he was going back to her. He hated the thought of giving up on his search for Bucky, but he needed to be with his wife. He needed to see her again. He needed to hold her again.

Steve walked to the dingy bathroom and washed his face. He dressed quickly, donning a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved henley shirt. He had to admit, he could get used to the Los Angeles weather. It was January first and the predicted high for the day was sixty degrees.

He briefly thought of knocking on Sam's door for their usual morning run, but Sam had been out late the night before and he didn't want to wake him. Sam had tried to get Steve to go out and enjoy New Year's Eve, but the truth was that Steve had no interest in going to a club or a bar until the wee hours of the morning.

Just as Steve began to descend the concrete steps that connected the second floor of the hotel to the parking lot below, Sam's door opened.

"You taking off without me?" Sam asked in a friendly tone as he peeked his head out of the doorway.

"Sorry, I didn't want to bother you. I didn't hear you come back last night," Steve said, turning around and giving Sam a grin.

"I got back right after midnight. Turns out, I wasn't much for the club scene around here. Let me get dressed and I'll join you."

"That'd be great," Steve said, sitting on the top step to wait for Sam.

00000

Ten minutes later, they were starting off on an easy jog together. Steve could have run circles around Sam, but he kept to his friend's pace, starting off slow and gradually working up to about eight or nine miles an hour. They rarely talked on their runs and Steve enjoyed the relaxed companionship. He didn't know how he would have gotten this far without Sam there by his side. Steve's technological skills had improved drastically in the last two years, but Sam still blew him out of the water. He was constantly thinking of new ways to find Bucky and Steve was grateful for his help.

"After breakfast, I thought after this we could check out Skid Row. It's a needle in a haystack, I know, but I saw someone working for one of the missions tweet about a guy with a metal arm down there. It'd be worth checking out," Sam offered.

"Yeah, that sounds good," Steve agreed half-heartedly. There had so many false leads, so many times they just missed Bucky, he didn't dare get his hopes up.

00000

They got to Skid Row around eight in the morning. Some of the inhabitants were still sleeping, some were already awake. Sam parked the car they had rented, clicking the automatic lock once they'd gotten out. "There are thousands of homeless in this area. The tweet I saw mentioned Sixth Street. I figure you go one way, I'll go the other. See what we can find. Hopefully, help a few people out."

Steve nodded. Unfortunately, the days when he could afford to donate thousands of dollars to homeless shelters were long over with. However, he and Sam always brought food with them whenever they searched for Bucky, handing it out to the people they encountered on the way.

He sighed as he looked that city block spread out in front of him. Dozens of people were lying on the sidewalk, huddled together, one after another, their backs against a chain-link fence topped with razor barb wire.

Steve went to them, one by one, handing each person he passed a bottle of juice, some fruit, a bagel and a peanut butter sandwich. It wasn't enough, he knew, not nearly enough. But, it was all he could do at the moment.

He nearly passed Bucky by. He didn't look like a person at all, at first, just a collection of grimy blankets and rags. Then, Bucky shifted slightly and Steve realized that there was a person burrowed underneath. He leaned down to drop off the food, his eyes watering at the stench. He realized it was a man, a younger one with long, dark hair. Steve crouched down, peering closer. The man wore long sleeves and gloves, but as he moved, Steve saw a glint of metal on his left wrist.

"Bucky? Is that you?"

The man stirred, slowly taking the blankets off of himself. Then, Steve saw his face and relief flooded his system. "Bucky, it's me, Steve."

Bucky began to smile and the tension that had wracked his body began to ease.

"It's going to be okay, Bucky. I'm going to take you home. You're going to be okay."

Bucky slowly sat up. It broke Steve's heart to see his friend, disheveled and filthy. Steve sat down on the concrete in front of Bucky, facing his friend and handing him the food and juice. "Here, you should eat something. I'm always starving. That serum. Makes me ravenous."

Bucky nodded and took the food, downing the entire bottle of juice in one long gulp and nearly swallowing the bagel whole. He ate the rest of the food much more slowly, savoring each bite. Steve couldn't wait to get Bucky out of there. He started to grin. They'd be back to New York that night, if he could swing it. He'd call Stark and ask for the jet. He was sure that Bucky didn't have any I.D., so flying commercial was out of the question. Steve spent several minutes, watching his friend eat, planning out all the details for the trip home.

Then, Steve heard the unmistakable sound of dozens of guns cocking behind him.

"Agent Rogers, this is S.H.I.E.L.D. We are authorized to take Sergeant Barnes into custody. Please stand down," a male voice said over a bullhorn.

Bucky's eyes widened, panic and betrayal evident on his face.

Steve's stomach clenched. They had followed him. Probably ever since he left Fury's base. And he had led them straight to Bucky. "I didn't know, Bucky. They didn't tell me. I'm not going to let them take you. I'm going to keep you safe," he said firmly.

"Stand down, Agent Rogers," the head agent ordered. "We need to take the prisoner into custody."

"That's not going to happen. He's coming with me. You aren't going anywhere with him," Steve said, gritting his teeth as he stood and turned around to face them. He looked at the dozens of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives, all pointing their guns at him and Bucky. He began to calculate the best way to take them down and get Bucky out of there.

"This is your last warning, Agent Rogers. We are authorized to use force. That man is a known assassin."

Steve shook his head. "You're going to have to go through me."

All of a sudden, a small object was tossed in front of him and Steve's heart sank as he recognized it.

Without a second thought, Steve jumped on the grenade, using his body to cover the device.

He could hear Bucky scream, "No!", just before his world went black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note-
> 
> 1\. If you haven't gotten a chance to already, please check out my other Captain America story "Information". I'd love to know what you think.
> 
> 2\. On tumblr, I've seen quite a few posts about Bucky roaming the streets and saving people in danger and they were the inspiration for Bucky indulging in those two scenes of vigilante justice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch. 5**

The first thing that Steve was aware of when he woke up was that his back felt odd. He shifted slightly, realizing he was on a cot, not a proper bed. His eyes fluttered open and he groaned at the harsh fluorescent lights. He lifted his head and instantly regretted it as it began to pound slightly.

He moaned softly as he sat up, looking at the bare concrete room he was in. His duffel bag, the one he had left in his hotel room, lay in one corner next to his shield. He heard someone clear their throat and he spun his head around.

Fury was sitting there, staring at him, leaning back in a straight back chair.

"Night-night grenade. Specially re-engineered and formulated to take down the Centipede supersoldiers. We amped it up enough that we figured it'd knock Bucky out. Or you, if need be. You weren't supposed to take the brunt of it like that. It was only supposed to take you down for a couple of hours at most," Fury explained. "We should have remembered your tendency to jump on them." His mouth quirked in a half-grin.

"How long have I been out?" Steve asked hoarsely, scratching the back of his neck and coughing slightly.

"Over a day," Fury said.

"You had me followed. From the start. From the day I left to find Bucky," Steve stated.

"Are you surprised?"

Steve shook his head. "No, I guess not." He took a deep breath, already feeling better. "Where are we?"

"Back in New York," Fury said. "Newly refurbished S.H.I.E.L.D. base. Turned out well," he said, waving to the small room.

"Sam?" Steve asked.

"We escorted him here, too. Natasha even recruited him. He's the newest member of S.H.I.E.L.D. Seems like he was unemployed for the last six months and could use the money."

Steve nodded. It hardly surprised him. Sam had asked him endless questions about the organization over the past few months.

"And Bucky?"

"In custody. Being questioned. He did try to kill me after all. You too," Fury pointed out.

"That wasn't his fault and you know it. You know what Hydra did to him. They brainwashed him again and again. They stripped everything away from him. He's not responsible for any of it," Steve insisted.

"That may be true, but it's possible he has intel that could help us."

"Any information he may have is at least six months out of date. It's useless to you. He's a victim in all of this. You can't keep him locked up like this," Steve said.

"He's a threat," Fury said.

Steve stood, staring down at Fury. "You know, I could just take him. You couldn't stop me. And you definitely couldn't stop both of us."

Fury looked up at him and gave him a smile. "You're right. But, what then? You've got a wife, Cap. What are you going to do? Have her live a life on the run with you and Bucky, with both Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. on your tail? Rip her away from her life, her friends, her family? And just how long would that last? She'd just slow you down. She'd be a liability. But, I guess you could just abandon her."

"I would never abandon my wife," Steve said through clenched teeth.

"Then, how long do you really think you could go before someone caught up with all of you? Remember, your BFF made Stark an orphan. Just how long would it be before your best man tried to kill your best friend?" Fury asked.

"Does Tony know?" Steve asked quietly.

"Not yet," Fury said, the threat lingering in his voice.

"I'm not going to let you keep Bucky here. He's coming home with me," Steve said.

"Fine, you want to play a wacked-out assassin's version of 'Three's Company' with your bestie and your wife, that's okay by me. I only have two conditions."

"What are they?" Steve asked suspiciously.

"One, Bucky must attend weekly mandatory therapy sessions and must show progress. I can't allow a killing machine to roam the streets of New York. The carnage that he's left behind is already massive. If he were to start up again . . ."

"He won't. And he's not a killing machine," Steve said tightly.

Fury stared at him for so long that Steve wondered if he would ever respond.

Finally, Fury replied. "Two, you come back to work for us. I've given you six months leave to find Bucky and you have. But the whole Hydra thing gutted us and we're stretched beyond thin trying to put out fires around the globe. We need you. The world needs Captain America again."

Steve took a deep breath. "Really, does it? Okay. Fine. But, you owe me six months back pay. With interest. Looks like I've been working for you all along."

Fury chuckled. "You've got a point there, Cap. I'll clear it through payroll. And, I'll go ahead and authorize the transfer order for Sergeant Barnes. He'll be your responsibility. Anything he does, it's all on you. Go; pick up your friend. But, if I were you, I'd sleep with one eye open."

Steve nodded curtly and left the room, grabbing his bag and shield on his way out.

And promptly realized he had no idea where he was. He walked down one long, gray corridor after another before finally finding a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to direct him to the detention center where they were keeping Bucky. The agent saw him fiddling with his phone and gave him a smile. "Reception here is spotty with all the concrete. Calls keep getting dropped. If I were you, I'd try texting. Usually those will go through," she said.

"Thanks," Steve said. "Do you know how long it would take to get from here to Stark Tower? I'm transferring a prisoner."

"Taxi or subway?"

Steve couldn't imagine squeezing Bucky into a crowded subway car. "Taxi."

"With rush hour traffic and all the red tape they put you through for transfers, I don't know, maybe two and a half, three hours, maybe more?" she said tentatively.

Steve nodded. "Good to know. Thanks again."

Steve took out his phone to text Stacy.

_**-Good news! Found Bucky and I'm back in New York. Long story. We'll be back at the apartment in 3 hours. Would you mind picking up some clothes for Bucky and maybe dinner? I love you.** _

Steve hit send, but the text didn't go through. He sighed, vaguely waving his phone in the air until a few more bars appeared on the screen. He tried again and smiled when it finally went through.

He was nearly at the detention center when his phone pinged. He looked down and began to grin.

_-Oh, thank goodness! I was so worried! I've been calling and texting for the past day. I'm so happy you're back. I'll go out and get all that for Bucky and meet you back at the apartment in 3 hours. I love you more!_

Steve shook his head and smiled before texting his wife back.

_**-Not possible.** _

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Steve saw Natasha pacing outside of Bucky's cell. It was odd to see her in a standard S.H.I.E.L.D. fatigues instead of her Black Widow suit. He realized with a start that it indicated how deeply she was involved in the reconstruction of S.H.I.E.L.D.

The cell reminded Steve of Loki's room on the hellcarrier, all gleaming glass. Bucky was lying down on the bunk, his back to them, apparently asleep.

"Nat, I'm here to take Bucky home," he said firmly to Natasha.

"So I heard," Natasha said, pressing lightly on her earpiece. "It's good to see you, Steve."

Steve nodded, not bothering to return the sentiment. "You knew . . . that Fury had me followed."

"Not at first," she said evasively.

"Why didn't you tell me, Nat?"

"You're emotionally compromised when it comes to Bucky, Steve. He's your best friend," she said.

"And he shot you."

Nat shook her head. "This wasn't personal. He was a threat. We had to interrogate him."

"You're sounding a lot like Fury now. I trusted you," he said, the hurt evident in his tone.

"I know. But, you don't see clearly when it comes to Bucky."

"What did he tell you?" Steve asked.

"Nothing. As good as I am, he hasn't said a word since he woke up. I've tried every single technique that I can. Nothing's worked. He's completely shut down."

"And Sam? You talked him into being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?" Steve asked.

"You know how persuasive I can be," she winked at him. "We need more good men like him. We really do. You left us, Steve, and the world just imploded. We're barely treading water right now. We need more agents. Hundreds more," she said.

"Where is he?" Steve asked.

"Orientation. At another base. You'll see him in a day or two," she reassured him.

Steve looked over at Bucky's cell, squinting when Bucky shifted slightly, moving his right arm into view.

"Why is his arm in a cast? What did you do to him?" Steve asked sharply, turning back to Natasha, his anger mounting.

"Nothing. You broke it, six months ago, when you guys were fighting on the hellcarrier, remember?" Natasha countered.

"Yeah."

"Well, it healed wrong. I'm sure he never bothered to go to a proper doctor afterwards. The doctors here noticed it when they examined while he was out. They rebroke it and set it properly. It must have been causing him a lot of pain. Or not. His version of the serum is different than yours. It's hard to tell how his body reacts to things. Anyhow, the way you guys heal so fast, we'll be able to take the cast off in a week," she explained.

"Fine, let's just get him out of there," he said.

Natasha placed a hand on his arm to stay him. "Steve, do you really want him around Stacy?" she asked.

"What are you saying, Nat?"

"Don't you care about her? About her safety? He's an emotionless killer."

"So were you once," Steve said harshly.

Natasha widened her eyes and took a step back, clearly stung by what he said.

Steve took a deep breath. "Sorry; I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. That wasn't right."

"No . . . . you have a point."

"Nat, he didn't have a choice. They robbed him of his free will. Made him into a weapon," Steve said.

"I know that, Steve. I know what happened to him. Better than most, actually. But what if . . . what if it comes back?"

"I'm not going to let that happen. He'd never hurt Stacy," Steve insisted.

Natasha shrugged. "I hope you're right, Steve. I really hope you're right."

"I am. Now, open the cell," Steve said.

She nodded and placed her hand on the opening mechanism. Steve smiled when he noticed how similar it was to the device that opened his own apartment back at Stark Tower.

"Bucky," he said, stepping into the cell. "It's Steve. Everything is going to be okay, Bucky. I'm here to take you home. You're coming home with me. You're going to be okay."

Bucky turned over onto his back and then slowly stood. His face had been washed and his cast was clean, but the rest of him was filthy and matted.

"You left him like this? For a whole day?" Steve bit out.

"It's not like we could force him to take a shower. He's as strong as you are. No one was going into that cell once he woke up," Natasha explained.

"Come on, Bucky. I'm going to take you home. Back to my apartment with Stacy," Steve said. He sighed a bit. "We've got a long taxi ride ahead of us. In two or three hours, we should be home."

Bucky starting walking slowly towards Steve, nodding and looking down at the ground as he went. Steve gulped at his friend's blank look, worried that being locked up by S.H.I.E.L.D. had pushed Bucky back over the edge.

"Look, I am sorry. For not telling you about S.H.I.E.L.D. following you. Let me help you out a little bit," Natasha offered.

"How?" Steve asked.

"Well. I can get you home a lot faster than three hours, for starters," Natasha offered.

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The helicopter ride with Natasha took less than twenty minutes. Steve was sure she broke a least a dozen regulations by ferrying them home that way, but he really couldn't care less. After what S.H.I.E.L.D. had just put him and Bucky through in the last twenty-four hours, they were lucky Steve didn't burn the entire base to the ground. Six months back pay with interest didn't even begin to clear the debt they owed him for what they did.

During the helicopter ride, Steve told Bucky as much as he could about what happened after he woke from the ice. Steve told Bucky about the Avengers and meeting Stacy and getting married. He showed his friend dozens of photos of his past few years, hoping to connect with his friend. Bucky never said a word, never answered one of Steve's questions, but Steve noticed that the tension in Bucky's body began to slowly leak away, his eyes began to focus on the pictures that Steve showed him on his phone, the corners of Bucky's mouth began to curve up slightly after Steve told a funny story. In just that short helicopter ride, Steve started to hope that his friend would return to him someday.

Once they landed, Steve placed a hand on Natasha's shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. "Thanks," he said and hopped off of the helicopter, Bucky behind him.

"You're welcome. Take care," Natasha said, dipping her head in acknowledgement and taking off again once they had cleared the helipad.

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Steve looked over at Bucky on the elevator ride down from the roof, flashing him a smile. He was excited to have him meet Stacy and he couldn't wait to surprise her. He hadn't bothered to let her know that they were coming home earlier than Steve had anticipated. He first went to his old apartment, then shook his head when the door wouldn't open.

"Sorry. I forgot we moved." Steve walked over to the other side of the gym and pressed his hand against the scanner, wincing when he remembered that poor Stacy had been left with all the moving responsibilities since he had spent the last six months searching for Bucky. She had spent at least a month buying furniture and decorating the new apartment on her own.

The door slid open and he ushered Bucky inside.

Steve smiled as he walked in. The radio was on, playing a smooth jazz standard, soft and romantic. A few candles had even been lit in the entryway.

"Hi, honey. I'm home," he called out, dropping his bag and shield in the middle of the room, glad that Stacy was back early from shopping. He was eager to hold his wife, just then realizing his arms longed to be wrapped around her.

"Um . . . hi," said a man sitting on the couch, waving over to them with a tentative smile. He was about their age, handsome with an athletic build. Steve's eyes narrowed when he saw that the man's hair was wet. He could hear the shower in the master bathroom still running.

"What are you doing in my apartment?" Steve demanded, clenching his fists, advancing on the man.

"Your apartment? She said it was her apartment," the man said defensively as he stood.

"Did she? Did she also say she was married?" Steve ground out, walking slowly towards him.

The man's eyes widened as he backed away, hands out in front of him. "No, man. Dude, we met at church. I didn't know she was married."

"Is that why you were showering together?"

"Showering together? No, no, no . . . . . I showered in the guest bathroom. She told me that there was this great gym right next to her apartment. We just had plans to work out and go to dinner. Man, we didn't do anything. I mean, we still haven't even . . . " the man trailed off and gulped.

"Kissed? You were planning on kissing my wife? What else were you planning on doing with my wife?" Steve began to shake in anger.

From the guilty look in the man's eyes, Steve could easily see that his intentions went far beyond a mere kiss.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't know she was married. She just seemed like some lonely girl. I promise you, I never would have come here if I thought she was married. Look, I'll just . . . . I'll just leave." He reached down, fumbling to grab his gym bag, edging towards the door.

Steve moved to block his exit, staring down at the man, doing his best to restrain himself. "If I ever see you within a hundred yards of her again, you'll regret it," Steve said, his tone low and deadly.

The man nodded nervously and turned to go. As he passed by, Bucky fake lunged at the man, causing him to flinch and give a shout. Bucky chuckled darkly as the man scurried out of the apartment.

Once the man had left, Steve turned towards his friend, his voice thick with emotion. "Bucky, I need to talk to Stacy. Please, just wait here."

Bucky nodded. He wouldn't want to be in Steve's shoes for the world. Bucky winced when he saw his friend take a deep, steadying breath and walk towards the master bedroom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note - I've written new ficlet "His Future"! I I'd love to know how you like it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Ch. 6**

Bucky stood there for a moment looking across the room at the bedroom door that Steve had closed behind him. He began to prowl the vast apartment, surprised by the size and the quality of the furnishings.  _Steve must be doing alright for himself to be able to swing a place like this,_ he thought. The house was done in warm, neutral colors that felt comfortable and cheery without being bland. The living room and kitchen were all together in one great room. The living room had a large L-shaped sectional as well as pair of easy chairs all facing a large flat screen T.V. The kitchen was huge with large island that held a second sink. Everything was gleaming granite and polished chrome. Both the refrigerator and the stove looked like they belonged in a restaurant instead of a private home. There was a sturdy oak table with six chairs to one side, presumably for more informal dining. The walk-in pantry was bigger than some bedrooms he'd slept in.

There was a separate formal dining room with a large oak table that could easily sit a dozen people. Along the wall was a matching buffet and in one corner was a tall glass-enclosed oak cabinet full of china. Bucky ran his finger on the table top and noticed a fine layer of dust. He guessed that they didn't use that room very much.

He walked down the hall and found a small den. Both the couch and easy chair were overstuffed and done in rich brown leather. There were large oak bookcases filled with books on the either side of a flat screen TV mounted flush against the wall. There was a sturdy desk in one corner that had an unmistakably masculine air about it. Bucky guessed that it was where Steve worked when at home.

The bedrooms had thick dark beige carpeting instead hardwood flooring that dominated the rest of the home. One of the bedrooms had a desk full of school supplies for children. There were crayons, stickers, and a stack of photocopied worksheets. He remembered Steve mentioning that Stacy was a kindergarten teacher and Bucky figured this was where she left her work materials. There was an unmade twin-sized bed with a light floral pattern on the rumpled bedspread.

The second bedroom was done in darker colors with a large window with a view of Central Park. Another huge bookcase dominated the room. Next to it was large easy chair that was perfect for reading with a small table and lamp nearby. The bed was at least queen-sized with a thick dark grey comforter and a half-dozen matching pillows and cushions on it.

Bucky heard the water finally turn off in the master bathroom and tensed. The last thing he wanted to hear is the break-up of his friend's marriage. He looked down at his filthy, grimy clothes and decided to take a shower himself, hoping the noise would drown out the sound of the upcoming argument. He felt uncomfortable with touching anything in Steve's apartment, given how dirty he was.

He went to the guest bathroom and shed his clothes, leaving them in a stinking pile in the corner. He stepped into the shower, done in tan and brown tile and large enough to fit half a dozen people. He was careful not to get his cast wet. He looked down at it, irritated at the encumbrance, glad that Steve told him it'd be off in a week.

Bucky thought of Steve and what was happening just a few feet away from him. He remembered being in the Army, back during WWII. Guys in the barracks would brag about their girlfriends or wives back home, show photos of their loved ones waiting for them to return. Bucky always felt a bit bad about having no one special waiting for him like that. It's not that he wasn't popular with the ladies, but he'd never found anyone he could see spending his life with.

Then, a "Dear John" letter would arrive. A guy's face would light up since getting mail from home was always a treat. Then, he sit down heavily on his bunk, brow furrowed as he read and re-read the letter, crumpling it up in the end. The rest of the men always knew. Someone scrounge up a bottle of something strong and bitter and they would all drink together that night, despite any regulations to the contrary. They all sympathized, 'cause deep down, they never knew when they were going to get a letter, too, when they'd find out that their faithless wife had decided to run off with some traveling salesman. Opening the mail from home sometimes felt like an awful game of marital Russian roulette.

 _Just more trouble you've caused. If you hadn't have run off like that, Steve wouldn't have spent the last six months searching for you. He would have been here with his wife. A part of you always knew that he'd come after you. You were just ashamed to have him see what you've become. A murderer. And now you can add home wrecker to the long list of offenses. You can wash and wash and you'll never be clean._ The voice in his head repeated its litany of Bucky's crimes.

He stood under the spray for a long time, fiddling with the controls until the water was so hot it nearly scalded him. He watched the dirt and grime fall away from his body, scrubbing so hard he almost drew blood. He craved sensation, anything to get him out of his own head, anything to stop the voice, anything to bring him out of the fog and haze he'd lived in the last few days after being nabbed by S.H.I.E.L.D.

When he had seen the redhead, he instantly remembered fighting her the previous summer in D.C., trying his hardest to kill her. He remembered shooting her years ago when she stood between him and his target. When he saw her, questioning him, pacing outside of his cell, he knew it was all over, that it was only a matter before they wiped him, made him a mindless assassin. So, he shut down, protected himself the only way he knew how, drawing into himself. He wanted to believe that he was safe now, that Steve had come for him and everything was going to be alright.

He took a long, deep breath as he stared at the water circling the drain. He tried to remember the last time he had a shower. A week ago, maybe two? He'd sneak into a gym during the off hours and take a shower whenever he could. Being covered in grime was part of his disguise, a way to stay safe, but it was a disguise he didn't need any more.

As he looked around the shower, he suppressed a chuckle. The only soap was a lavender body wash and the shampoo was pink. It's not that he minded that much smelling like flowers and berries. Anything would be preferable to the eye-watering stench he'd been covered in for the last few months.

000000

Steve opened the door of his bedroom and sat heavily on the bed.  _A lonely girl. That's what the guy had said. She seemed like a lonely girl,_ Steve thought.

Six months. He had left her alone for six months.

He knew things between them had been tense from time to time. He knew that it had been hard on Stacy. He also knew that she sometimes minimized what she was going through just to make him feel better. And, the worst part was, he knew all that and he didn't press, letting himself believe that everything was just going to work out fine. He was so focused on getting Bucky back that he didn't realize he was on his way to losing his own wife.

But, he couldn't believe that they had come to this. He racked his brain trying to think of what had caused her to seek out someone else. He looked around the enormous room. The master bedroom alone was nearly the size of his old apartment. He realized that he had never slept on the king-sized bed he was sitting on, that his old queen-sized bed had been put in one of the guest bedrooms. He looked at the bed and an image flashed in his mind, Stacy writhing on it, her limbs entangled with those of another man.

Steve felt like he was going to be sick. How many others had there been? One? Two? When had it started? A month ago? As soon as he left?

He took a deep, steadying breath. He was letting his imagination run away with him. He remembered more than a year ago, when he accused her of being part of Hydra. When he let his anger and feelings of betrayal override his good sense. When he refused to listen to the woman he professed to love. Maybe she had a good excuse. Maybe she thought she was merely being friendly and the creep had misinterpreted it. It wouldn't be the first time a guy had mistaken kindness for flirtation.

But, he kept coming back to the part where the man said he had no idea that Stacy was married. And Steve couldn't dismiss it, couldn't find any rational excuse for Stacy to deny that she was his. He looked down at his own wedding ring, the gold band that he hadn't taken off once since she had slipped it on him during their wedding. For some reason, she had been playing at being single and the thought of it made Steve's chest ache.

It wasn't that Steve didn't have plenty of opportunities to go astray in the past few months. Most women saw the ring and backed off, but a few others had been more persistent, promising both discretion and pleasure. Steve always felt awkward, trying to walk the fine line between firmness and rudeness in his rejections. It was one of the reasons that Steve no longer went out so often with Sam when they were on the road, preferring to spend his nights on Skype with Stacy. The thought of cheating on her had never crossed his mind.

The shower finally turned off and Steve stood, ready to confront Stacy. He promised himself that he was going to listen to her and not let himself get angry. They were going to work through this together. They'd go to counseling, see a therapist, whatever they needed to do. They weren't giving up on each other. They'd come too far.

Only, it wasn't Stacy standing there in a robe when the bathroom door opened.

It was Monica.

"What are you doing here?" she shrieked, clutching her fuzzy pink robe closed, her hair in a towel.

"It's my apartment. What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I'm getting ready for my date," she said, as though the answer were obvious.

"Your date? Wait. That guy on the couch. He was your date?" Steve said, comprehension dawning on him.

"Yes. . . . who else would he be here for? Wait, did you think he was here for Stacy? You thought she was cheating on you?" she asked, her tone sharp.

"Uh . . . " Steve began, looking down, not knowing what to say.

"Wait, why did you say was? Steve, what did you say to him?" Monica asked.

Steve gulped. "I may have told him that you were married and that he shouldn't get within a hundred yards of you."

"Steve!" she shouted.

He held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry. It was an honest misunderstanding."

"Ugh! Look, I'm gonna get dressed," she said pointedly.

Steve colored, having completely forgotten she was in her robe. "Yeah, sorry," he mumbled as he scurried out of the bedroom.

00000

Steve spent the next twenty minutes on the couch in the living room, just trying to process everything that had happened in the last few days. He felt so relieved that it was Monica in the shower and not Stacy, though he could tell that Monica was less than happy with him.

He heard the shower going in the guest bathroom and grinned, glad that Bucky had a chance to shower, hoping that he'd feel more like himself. Steve wanted to call Stacy, but he realized that he had left his phone in the bedroom and the last thing he want to do was walk in on Monica.

"You haven't called Stacy, have you?" Steve asked anxiously once Monica had finally gotten dressed and came into the living room.

"I may have texted her. And I may have written that you scared off my date because you thought Stacy was cheating on you. And I also may have written that if I end up never finding a husband and dying a virgin because of that little stunt, I'll haunt you to the end of your days. She texted back that she'll be here any minute."

Steve put his head in his hands. "Monica!"

"What! Four months! Four months I've been after this guy. Dropping endless hints, flirting like mad and finally, finally he took the bait and you scared him off," she snapped. "I've texted and called him and he won't answer me."

"Why did that guy think you lived here?" he asked.

"Because I do. More or less."

"More or less?"

"Well, I obviously live here more than you do. You haven't slept a single night in this apartment. I'm here three, four nights a week at least," she said.

"Why?" he asked, perplexed.

"Why?" she repeated angrily. "Why? Stacy and I lived together for four years. She has never lived by herself. Ever. She went straight from her parents' house, to the dorms, to the apartment with me and Erica. Then, she gets married to the man of her dreams who ditches her right after her honeymoon to crisscross America to track down his homicidal BFF," she said, her voice rising with every word.

Steve winced. "Monica, I should introduce you to Bucky," he said, waving over to his friend, who had just walked of the guest bathroom, clad only in a towel slung low around his waist. "Bucky, this is Stacy's best friend, Monica."

"Oh, hi, sorry," Monica said, having the good manners to look stricken. "Sorry about that."

Bucky just gave her a small, indifferent shrug as he stopped at the edge of the living room.

Monica looked at Steve. "He's been through a lot. I don't think he's much up for talking right now," Steve explained as vaguely as he could.

"Dude, not for nothing, but your friend's pretty cut for a homeless guy," Monica said, eyeing Bucky in appreciation.

Steve shook his head. "Monica," he said in a warning tone.

"What? You know me, I'm always honest," she said blithely.

"Look, why were you meeting a guy here? You have your own apartment," Steve pointed out, wanting to steer the conversation away from Bucky.

"Yes, that tiny studio that I share with two women I barely know and can't stand. Of course, I'd rather meet a guy here. You know Tony charges twenty thousand a month for similar apartments. Twenty thousand! So, when it came to meeting a guy in that little hovel I pay rent on, or a luxury home in a high-rise building, I chose here."

"How'd you even get in?" Steve asked.

"Stacy had Tony code in my palm months ago so I could come and go. Stacy knew I was meeting Chase here. She said you wouldn't be back for hours. Like I said, I'm over here at least three or four nights a week. She's been lonely, Steve. And then after the riot . . ."

"Riot?" Steve asked.

"I knew it. She didn't tell you about the protesters, did she?" Monica asked.

Steve's heart sank. "She mentioned that. Someone threw a bottle. She said Tony dispersed them."

"A bottle? Just a bottle. Of course, she'd say that. She always makes things out to be less than they really are. It was horrible, Steve. Tony only got there at the tail end of it, once a lot of them had already left. There were dozens of them. They ripped her clothes, stole her purse. One guy hit her so hard that she had a limp for a week."

Steve gritted his teeth. "She never told me."

"Of course not. She made us all swear not to tell you anything. Everything had to be hunky dory here or you'd come running back. Give up on finding your friend. So, no matter how bad things got for her, she kept it to herself. That's why I stayed here. She's my best friend in the world and these last six months without you have been really rough for her. There were reporters surrounding our school for weeks at the beginning of the semester, hounding her every time she left the school. Some of the parents even pulled their kids from her class."

"I didn't know," Steve said.

"Well, now you do. I think she was prepared, you know, for the two or three week assignments with S.H.I.E.L.D. She was used to it during the time you dated. But, then, S.H.I.E.L.D. imploded and you left and she was just adrift."

00000

Bucky just stood there awkwardly as Steve and Monica argued. He was relieved that it turned out to be Stacy's friend instead of Stacy planning to go out with that guy, but it made him uncomfortable to hear her lay into Steve like that.

She looked familiar, but he supposed that she was most likely in the dozens of wedding photos that Steve had showed him on his phone. She was tall for a woman, maybe only an inch shorter than himself and he had to look up slightly at her with the black high-heeled boots she was wearing. She was the kind of woman a guy would notice even when he probably shouldn't. Her hair was dark and on the shorter side, set in soft, loose curls that barely reached her chin. She had clearly gotten all dolled up for the man he and Steve had run off.

She was wearing thick, grey tights under a short black dress and, as his eyes traveled up her impossibly long, shapely legs, without being aware of it, he parted his lips and slowly ran his tongue over his teeth. Bucky realized with a start that there were definitely some things he remembered distinctly from before the war, some experiences he could still vividly recall. He then figured that he was staring and forced his gaze down to avoid seeming like a lech, acutely aware that he was only in his towel.

He heard a door open and turned his head towards the entryway. It looked like Steve's wife was finally home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note- Thank you for your kudos and kind reviews! I can't tell you how much I appreciate your encouragement!
> 
> And for those of you who've seen the first Thor movie, yes, Monica did reference Darcy's line.


	7. Chapter 7

**Trigger Warning** \- Remember how I warned you that some of this material is darker than "The Captain's Bride"? Near the end of the chapter is one of Bucky's nightmares. If you find death, murder, etc. at all triggering, please skip over the large italicized section about two thirds of the way down the chapter. I've rewritten it a few times to make it T-rated instead of M-rated, but I know that some readers may be uncomfortable with this kind of material. You can just skip over that section and substitute it mentally with "Bucky had a very bad nightmare".

* * *

**Ch.7**

Steve's eyes opened wide as he stood and made his way towards the entryway. Stacy dropped her shopping bags and rushed towards him, arms out to him. He grabbed her, swinging her around in a big arc in the living room. "Oh, honey. I missed you so much. I love you," she said, covering his face in kisses.

He slowly lowered her to the ground, reveling the the way his wife felt, the curve of her hip under his palm, the sound of her soft, impatient sigh when his lips finally met hers, the salty taste of her tears as they ran down her cheeks. He took her face in his hands, pulling back slightly to look down on her, not believing this moment had finally come. "I love you. I've missed you, too," he barely got out before he kissed her again and again.

00000

Bucky couldn't stop staring at the scene in front of him.  _Looks like you're doing more than alright for yourself, Steve,_  he thought. He saw Stacy looking up at Steve and Bucky was blown away by her. And it wasn't just because she was pretty. There was such a raw beauty in the way that Stacy gazed at Steve with such naked adoration and utter devotion. It was just the kind of look a man wanted from his wife. It was the kind of look that kept you warm on cold, desolate nights when you were far from home. It was a look that made every sacrifice worth it. It was a look of pure, simple love.

Bucky glanced over at Monica, wondering if she was still angry at Steve and was surprised by what he saw. She was beaming at the couple, wiping a tear away, overcome by emotion. She rose quite a bit in Bucky's estimation of her, since he could tell that she cared for them both deeply.  _Seems like Stacy has pretty good taste in friends_ , Bucky thought.

00000

After a few minutes, Stacy finally slipped an arm around Steve, leaning into him, and faced Bucky. "Hi, Bucky. I'm Stacy, Steve's wife. I am so happy you're here. We've been praying that Steve would find you. I'm so glad to see you," she said and her voice broke a bit as she gave Bucky a tremulous smile.

Bucky just stood there, saying nothing, barely dipping his head in acknowledgement of what she said.

"He's still adjusting," Steve said softly to Stacy.

Stacy nodded. "Of course. Um . . . I got you some clothes," she said, letting go of Steve and walking back towards the entryway where she had dropped her shopping bags. "It's just some socks, underwear, some sweats and some T-shirts. I didn't want to get too much. I wasn't sure of your sizes. We can go out tomorrow and get you some more. I'm sorry; Monica texted me and I came back home right away. I didn't have a chance to pick up any shoes."

She walked over to Bucky as she spoke and handed him the bags. "I set up the big guest room for you, the one with the gray comforter. I hope you like it. You can get changed there if you like and then we can have some dinner."

Bucky held onto his towel with one hand and took the bags from Stacy with the other, once again barely dipping his head before turning and walking towards his new room.

Stacy turned towards Monica once Bucky had shut the door to his room. "I'm sorry everything went pear-shaped tonight for you. I know you were looking forward to going out with Chase. You look gorgeous."

"I do look fabulous," Monica said confidently with a twinkle in her eyes as she twirled around in her outfit for Stacy's benefit. "It's alright. I'll be fine. I'm just glad that you and Steve are back together."

Stacy grinned. "Liar," she teased gently. "I know how much tonight meant to you. We'll figure something out. We will." Stacy gave Monica a quick hug.

"Thanks," Monica said.

"Now, Steve and I need to have a little chat. I have a big favor to ask. I didn't have any time to grab any food and it's nearly dinnertime. Would you mind calling Marco's and ordering three large combo pizzas?" she asked Monica.

Steve held up all the fingers on one hand and mouthed, "Five".

"Oops. Five pizzas. I forget how much these guys eat," Stacy said.

"Will do," Monica said with a smile.

Stacy grabbed Steve's hand and led him to the bedroom. She had him sit on the bed and she climbed on his lap, covering his face in fervent kisses, nipping at his neck as he responded in kind. After a few minutes, they were both breathless and panting. Stacy pulled back a bit, sliding off of him, sitting next to him on the bed. "We'll have to continue this after dinner," she purred in his ear.

Steve swallowed hard and nodded, fighting the urge to try to convince his wife otherwise. "Alright," he said in a raspy voice. He cleared his throat. "So, I take it that you're not sore at me," Steve said hopefully, taking her hand in his.

"Oh, I'm plenty sore at you. Cheating? Really? Steve, if I didn't mess around with you before we got married, what makes you think I would fool around with someone else after we got married?" Her tone was purposefully light, but Steve could hear the pain behind her words.

"I didn't, not really. I thought that there had to be some sort of explanation for it, that there was some kind of misunderstanding. Monica was furious at me for running off her date."

"You'll need to give her a break, poor thing. Things have been rough for her. First, Erica gets married and then six months later, I do. She has two new roommates who constantly gang up on her and make her life miserable. And, I think it's hard that both me and Erica got married to these wonderful guys," she said, giving Steve a wink, "and here she is spending months just trying to get a guy to take her to dinner."

Steve nodded, not surprised at hearing Stacy defend Monica. He decided to change the subject. "This apartment looks gorgeous. You did an amazing job."

"It should look great. I bought out Pottery Barn. I spent so much money those first couple of months. All the furnishings in here before were Tony's, so, I had to decorate this place from scratch. The beds, the linens, the stove, the refrigerator, the washer, the dryer. Then, we paid off all of my student loans. And we bought the car and then there's the car insurance . . ." she trailed off hopelessly.

"Look, Stacy. We talked about every single one of those purchases. It's fine. Really, it is. I can't tell you how many tens of thousands of dollars I spent on hotel rooms or flights in the past six months for me and Sam. Not to mention all the donations to the homeless shelters and food banks. We just didn't think it was going to take this long to find Bucky." He hugged her tightly, rubbing her back, then pulled away slightly. "Wait, I forgot about the car. Why have you been using Tony's cars if we have a car? What happened to the car?" Steve asked.

Stacy sighed. "Remember what I said about the protesters?"

"Yes."

"Well, one of them must of followed me one day. I was out shopping and I came back to the car and it looked like this," she said, taking out her phone and showing him a photo.

Steve winced at the pictures. The light gray sedan had been covered in vile graffiti, full of expletives, specifically calling out Captain America as a traitor.

"I called the police, but they never caught the guy. I kept meaning to get it repainted, but since we had liability only on it, it wasn't covered by the insurance. Also, I guess I was a bit nervous driving in it after what happened. So, I asked Tony and he said I could borrow any of his cars that I wanted," she explained.

"You haven't been honest with me. I talked to Monica. Things here were a lot worse than you let on," Steve said sternly.

Stacy sucked in her breath noisily through her teeth. "I . . . I just didn't want you to worry. I thought you might give up on finding Bucky. Sometimes . . . sometimes you can be a little overprotective and I was scared that if I let you knew how bad things had gotten that you'd come home and you'd never find Bucky. And then," she sighed, "I was worried that you'd end up resenting me for losing out on your chance to find your best friend."

Steve took a deep breath, lightly playing with her fingers. "I would never resent you. Look, I'm back at S.H.I.E.L.D. They're giving me six months back pay plus interest. That should make things a bit easier. But, I can't go back out on mission if you aren't going to be honest with me. This isn't going to work if you hold out on me."

She nodded. "I know it's just . . ."

Steve tightened his grip slightly on her hand. "I mean it, Stacy. I love you so much. But, I can't do my job if I'm worrying about you hiding something."

"Alright," she agreed. "So, how did you find Bucky? Where were you these last few days?"

Steve blew out a long breath in frustration. "S.H.I.E.L.D. followed me. Nabbed us both. I woke up in New York."

"Oh, Steve." She squeezed his hand. "Is that why Bucky is so . . . ?" Stacy trailed off.

"I think it triggered something. Played on his fears of getting captured by Hydra. But, he seems to be doing a bit better ever since we left the base. I'm hoping, in time, he'll be back to his old self."

"I'm sure he will be," she said reassuringly.

"I know we talked about this, but are you sure you're okay with him staying with us?" he asked hesitantly.

"Steve, he's family. Of course, he should be with us," she said, her voice firm. "Besides, I know if the situations were reversed, you'd let Monica stay with us."

"You really are wonderful. Have I told you how much I love you?" he said as he drew her in for a kiss.

"Yes, but I love hearing you say it," she said with a wink.

00000

Bucky never emerged from his room after getting changed. He sat on the bed, really looking at the room that was now his. It was large and warm and comfortable and nicer than any place he'd slept in decades. He looked at the dozens of books in the bookcase. Some of the titles were familiar, but the majority were were completely unknown to him. They ranged in types and topics, history, technology, religion, teaching methodologies, classic and popular novels. A few were obviously textbooks left over from Stacy's college days. Others were clearly Steve's, blue and green hardback editions from the 30s and 40s. His mouth quirked when he saw that some of them were in Spanish, but he remembered Steve mentioning something about Stacy speaking the language.

He went over and tentatively sat on the easy chair.  _My chair_ , Bucky thought as he sank into the huge, gray overstuffed chair. It was comfortable, for some reason reminding Bucky of a hug. He could imagine sitting there for hours, reading and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He began to breathe easier, feel calmer. He was safe. He was going to be alright.

There was a knock at the door. "Pizza's here, if you're hungry, Bucky," he heard Steve say.

A part of Bucky wanted to stay in his room, remain in his oasis of quiet and security. But, his stomach growled mercilessly and he remembered that he hadn't eaten in hours. He got up, steeling himself for the noise and emotional upheaval that would surely follow.

He opened the door to his room, walking down the hardwood corridor in his new socks, slipping slightly as he went. He nearly grinned when a memory came back of him as a child, sliding across smooth, polished floors in stocking feet. He remembered careening into his friends, jostling each other back and forth and invariably everyone landing on the ground in a heap.

He walked into the kitchen to see everyone seated at the kitchen table. He sat at the empty chair between Steve and Stacy and across from Monica. He could smell the heavenly aroma of mozzarella cheese and tomato sauce filling the room and it was all he could do not to snatch a piece from the box immediately. Steve was looked at him, worry evident on his face, so Bucky forced himself to just sit quietly.

"Why don't we just go ahead and say grace? I'm sure we're all hungry," Stacy said, smiling at Bucky.

"Yes," Steve said, bowing his head. "Thank you for this food and for helping us to bring Bucky home safely. Amen," he said.

"Amen," repeated both women.

Bucky felt unsure of himself and just nodded briefly.

"Let me get you some pizza," Stacy said and stacked Bucky's plate high with four slices. "There's soda or water if you'd like," holding out a glass of each.

Bucky took the glass of water from her hand and began to eat. Steve, Stacy and Monica started to talk, but Bucky completely ignored them, focusing on his food. He ate plate after plate, hardly pausing to down another glass of water. It wasn't until he finished his second pizza that he looked up at the people around him.

He yawned as a wave of exhaustion hit him. He hadn't slept at all in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, feigning sleep to avoid the endless questions that were lobbed at him.

"Are you tired, Buck? I know it's early, but you're more than welcome to hit the hay. It's been a big day," Steve said, concern tinging his voice.

Bucky stood, gave a quick nod and retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him. He went through his nightly debate about whether or not he should try to fall asleep right away or try to avoid it in an attempt to ward off the inevitable dreams that would come. He sat at his chair for a few hours, reading a novel that seemed meaningless and trivial, until he realized that sleep was coming whether he liked it or not. He laid down in his bed, closing his eyes, hoping that his sleep would be dreamless and deep.

000000

_Bucky looked around, smiling at the group of men before him, all checking their weapons before a big raid. He saw his own face reflected on the blade of a knife, clean-shaven, short hair. There was Gabe and Dum-Dum and the rest of the Howling Commandos, all sitting in the back of the truck, jostling slightly from the bumps in the road. Steve was next him, intently going over the details for the upcoming raid on the Hydra plant. Bucky tried to pay attention, but somehow all of the information seemed to slide away from him. He started to panic, wanting to ask for clarification, but he had no voice. Steve looked over at him and gave him a wide grin, patting him on the back. "No need to worry, Bucky. We've done this a hundred times."_

_But, Bucky could feel that something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The truck stopped and one by one, the Howling Commandos and Steve hopped out of the vehicle and Bucky followed. He looked down and there was a rifle in his hand and he was marching alongside his brothers in arms. Steve kicked down the front door of the facility, holding his shield up high. Bucky stood by his side, picking off one Hydra soldier after another, hearing each scream as they fell._

_Among the chaos, Bucky first saw Dugan fall, a killshot to the head. Then, Morita and Falsworth. Bucky whirled his head around, desperately trying pinpoint the sniper, not seeing much through the haze of the burning facility. Then, he saw Jones drop. Something about it felt all too familiar. Bucky looked up at the second story of the plant to see the muzzle of rifle pointed downward, towards Dernier. He tried to yell a warning, but his voice was gone. Dernier crumpled to the ground._

_And then he appeared, amid the smoke and flames of the ruined factory, leaping down effortlessly from a second story railing. The Winter Soldier. He looked like Bucky, but he had no soul. He wore the same uniform as always, the glasses, the muzzle-like mask. He began to stalk languidly towards Steve and Bucky tried to shout out a warning, but nothing came. He couldn't move his feet. He tried shooting the Winter Soldier, but every bullet just bounced off._

_Then, Steve began to melt, transform before Bucky's eyes, turning back into the Steve from before. The Steve that weighed ninety pounds. The asthmatic with a bad heart. Steve looked at Bucky in sheer fear, barely able to hold his shield up, drowning in his Captain America uniform. The Winter Soldier approached, easily swatting away Steve's shield. He came up behind Steve and grabbed him, holding him tight against his chest with his metal left arm so that they both faced Bucky. Steve struggled uselessly against the Winter Soldier, his arms reaching out towards Bucky. The Winter Soldier loomed over the smaller man, making Steve seem like a lost, terrified child. He held aloft a knife in his right hand, and with one swift motion, The Winter Soldier slit Steve's throat open._

_Steve's lifeless body fell face forward to the ground as the Winter Soldier let go of him. Bucky was reeling from the abject horror of what he had just seen. The Winter Soldier walked towards him, stepping over Steve's corpse, and although he didn't speak, Bucky could hear him in his brain, the low words reverberating in his skull. "You think this is a dream? A nightmare? It isn't. It's a vision of your future. I'm coming back. And I'm going to destroy everything and everyone close to you."_

000000

Bucky woke up in a cold sweat, his heart racing, gasping for air. His mind replayed the last scene from nightmare and his stomach roiled. He sat up in bed and vomited all over the comforter. He raced to the bathroom and was sick again, emptying his stomach of both pizzas. He sank to his knees in front of the toilet, clenching onto the cool porcelain bowl, just trying to hold out for the shaking and waves of nausea to pass.

Finally, he cleaned up, rinsing out his mouth a dozen times, and returned to his room, flicking on his light. He winced when he saw the scene before him. He must have been thrashing wildly in his dream since he saw a fist-sized gash in the drywall on the left side of the bed. He looked down at his metal arm and his only consolation was that at least it wasn't his right since the last thing he needed was to break it once again.

The comforter was heavily soiled, so Bucky dragged it to the bathroom and cleaned it off as best he could. He felt ashamed, like a child who had wet the bed. He didn't want Steve and Stacy to know what had happened. The loss of control felt humiliating. He looked at himself in the mirror and flinched, his disheveled look reminding him of the Winter Soldier staring back at him.

Once he had done all that he could in the bathroom, he found the small laundry room down the hall and spent a good five minutes trying to figure out the right cycle and detergent to use. He stuffed it in, dousing the comforter liberally with soap and hoping that the noise wouldn't wake everyone up, he turned the washer on, closing the door to the small room as he left.

He would have liked to have gone straight back to bed, but he was ravenous. He went to the kitchen and ended up eating an entire box of cereal and a half gallon of milk. Finally, he was ready to go to bed, but the old familiar fear began to haunt him. What if the nightmare came back? What if it was worse this time? He laid in bed, the blanket wrapped tightly around him and he sent out a prayer, a desperate plea, over and over again out into the unknown.  _Please, just let me sleep with no dreams. Please, I beg You. Just one night of freedom. Please, I'll do anything._

Once he finally drifted off, Bucky slept peacefully until morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note- I'm so happy that you are all enjoying the sequel so much! Your comments make my day!


	8. Chapter 8

**Ch. 8**

When Bucky woke up, the first thing he felt was a feeling of safety and security. He was warm and dry and comfortable and it felt utterly foreign. With a start, he remembered where he was.

He ran hand through his long hair as he sat up in bed. He could hear soft music outside his door, swing from the 40s.

He gingerly got up and padded to his door, opening it up slowly. He saw the gray comforter on the hardwood floor, folded neatly. Next to it were his black Winter Soldier boots, polished and cleaned. They looked almost new. Bucky crouched down, inspecting them, a puzzled look on his face. His last memory of them was leaving them in the guest bathroom, scuffed and encrusted in filth, underneath a pile of the grimy clothes he wore when he was living among the homeless.

"Monica and Stacy used my shoe shine kit and cleaned those up for you," Steve said and Bucky turned to look up at him, mildly surprised that he was able to sneak up on him. "They did their best with the clothes that you were wearing yesterday, but they eventually had to toss them. They're out now, buying you some new clothes. They were more than willing to go on a little shopping spree. I think they're going to be gone most of the day. I hope you don't mind."

Bucky nodded, touched by the gesture, the fact that both women had scrubbed away the layers of dirt and crud to resurrect the boots. He had to admit, he really liked the boots, the only part of the Winter Soldier outfit he had kept. He had told himself that it was merely because finding a new pair of shoes would be harder than finding new clothes, but if he were honest with himself, he just enjoyed wearing them.

"Stacy left a huge stack of pancakes warming in the oven. Are you hungry?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded and took the boots and the comforter back to his room. He carefully spread the comforter on the bed, glad that there seemed to be no lasting stains. He supposed that Stacy must have seen it in the washer when she was trying to clean his dirty clothes.

Bucky noticed the wall next to his bed and winced a bit at the size of the gash left by his metal fist. He looked down at his cybernetic hand, wiggling his fingers a bit, shaking his head. It could have been worse. It was one of the reasons he was careful that no one slept too close to him in the homeless encampments. One night, in the throes of a horrible nightmare, he had flailed his arm and hit the tent of the guy next to him, causing it to topple on the distraught elderly man inside. Bucky had felt horrible.

He took another quick shower and changed into a fresh pair of sweats and new T-shirt. Putting a T-shirt on with an arm in a cast was a challenge, but at least it would only be for another few days. He pulled back his wet hair with an elastic hair tie he found in the bathroom, guessing that it belonged to one of the women. He hated his shaggy appearance, but he didn't really have time to get a haircut at the moment.

He returned to his room and put on his boots and for some reason he felt better, more centered, more in control. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, steeling himself for eating another meal with Steve. Steve was so concerned that he get better, get back to normal, that Bucky could feel feel Steve's anxiety coming off of him in waves.

He opened his door, walking down the hallway to the kitchen. Steve was singing softly along with the music, a huge grin on his face. Bucky smiled at Steve's contented expression. It was the look of a man who had reunited with his wife the night before. _And possibly several times this morning_ , Bucky thought wryly, as he watched Steve practically dance around the large kitchen.

"Hey, Buck," Steve said when he turned around and he saw his friend watching him. "I've already eaten. Let me get you those pancakes."

Steve opened the oven that had been set on low, and the smell of pancakes hit Bucky. He couldn't remember the last time he had good pancakes. A couple of times he'd gotten them at a fast food restaurant, but they resembled stiff sponges and he could barely choke them down even when they were drowning in fake maple syrup.

"Here you go," Steve said. "I've got coffee, too. Black, with sugar, right?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. Seventy years and Steve could still remember the way he liked his coffee. He remembered downing gallons of the stuff while planning their Hydra raids. It didn't have the quite the same effect on him as before the procedure, but there was still something about the taste that was comforting and reassuring.

Bucky sat down to an enormous stack of pancakes and a hot, steaming cup of coffee. For a moment, he sighed in something approaching contentment. Steve sat next to him, his own mug filled to the brim, watching Bucky intently as he ate.

Bucky tucked into the pancakes with gusto, polishing them off in a matter of minutes. "Do you want any more? I could make you some more," Steve said.

Bucky shook his head, wiping his mouth clean of the sticky maple syrup with his napkin. "Another cup of coffee?" Steve asked eagerly.

Again, Bucky shook his head. There was something unnerving about Steve hovering over him. It was odd to have their roles switched, to have Steve watching out for him, to have Steve so concerned about him.

"Okay, Bucky," Steve said, sitting down next to him. "There's something we have to do. I got a call from Director Fury. One of the conditions for him releasing you is that you need to go to a counselor . . . about what happened to you."

Bucky tensed and stared at Steve through narrowed eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bucky, really I am. If there were any way around it, I'd find it. But . . . I think it might help you. You've been through a lot. And I know you're not up to talking to me about it. But, maybe, someone else . . ." Steve trailed off as he took Bucky's dishes to the dishwasher and put them in.

Bucky let out a shuddering sigh, gripping the table so tightly with his metal hand that he dented the wood. Just as quickly, he let go, ashamed at his momentary loss of control. He took a deep breath. The last thing he wanted to do was sit on a couch while someone picked apart his brain. And yet, looking at Steve's anxious face, he felt like it was the least he could do. He nodded quickly.

"That's great, Bucky. I've got to head to the base anyway to check in with Fury and see Sam. We'll drive in together. We'll borrow one of the cars in the underground garage."

Bucky nodded once more and stood. "It's too cold to go out just in a T-shirt. I've got an extra sweatshirt and coat for you," Steve offered, walking over to the hall tree in the entryway. He held out the clothes for Bucky who put on the sweatshirt and held the coat under his arm.

"Let's go," Steve said, ushering Bucky out the door.

000000

Steve chattered the entire ride over to the base. Bucky looked out the car window, ignoring him. He was preparing himself for the upcoming interrogation. For it was an interrogation. He didn't care how the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. sold it to Steve, Bucky was being sent on a mandatory interrogation session. He steeled himself. He had been programmed on how to resist every type of forced questioning technique.

The base looked like a non-descript office building in a bland office park. It was the type of building where people spent their time sending emails and making photocopies and very little real work got done. It didn't look intimidating or threatening in any way, which was the brilliance of the disguise. You'd drive by it a thousand times and never even give it a second glance.

The parking lot was nearly full and Steve parked in the far corner. Bucky sucked in a breath as the cold air hit him, quickly putting Steve's coat around him. He followed Steve to the lobby of the building, stuffing his hand in his pocket to keep warm.

In the lobby was a lone woman playing the part of receptionist, sitting behind an enormous mahogany desk. Her dark hair was shot with gray, gathered in a neat bun. She was tall and trim with a wide smile and bright blue eyes. She put Bucky on edge. He could tell it was a facade, that her sweet expression hid a steely resolve.

"How can I help you?" she asked with a smile, but Bucky could see that she had one hand underneath her desk, presumably on a panic button to call for help.

"We have an appointment," Steve said.

"It's a fine day we're having," she observed, looking at Steve intently.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Steve replied.

The tension left the woman's body and Bucky realized that Steve had just given her the right passcode to be let into the facility.

"Go right in," she said smoothly, pointing to the large wooden door to her left.

"Ma'am," Steve said respectfully, dipping his head and giving her a smile before opening the door and ushering Bucky inside.

They walked down a large corridor that ended in an elevator with a device that looked familiar to Bucky. He realized it was the same type of device that was used to open the door to Steve's apartment.

"Place your hands on the device to open the elevator door," a neutral male voice said, piped in through hidden speakers.

Bucky looked up and saw a surveillance camera pointed at the elevator door. Steve placed his right palm on the device.

"Captain Steven Grant Rogers, access granted."

Hesitantly, Bucky followed Steve's example.

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, access granted."

Bucky let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in, surprised that he'd been cleared to enter the base.

The elevator door slid open and they entered in. They descended so rapidly that Bucky's stomach felt queasy and he began to regret the amount of pancakes he had eaten. Soon, they stopped abruptly and the doors opened to a large room buzzing with activity. There had to be at least forty desks and cubicles in the center of the room along with private offices lining each wall.

"Captain Rogers?" a young man in suit asked, walking towards them with an eager smile on his face. Bucky figured that he looked younger than he really was, although with his baby face, he'd probably get carded until he was forty.

"Uh, yes," Steve returning the smile.

"Hi," the man said, enthusiastically shaking his hand. "I'm Agent Montero."

"Montero?" Steve asked, head cocked to the side.

"You know my mom. Gone on a few missions with her," he explained.

"Oh, yes. She's a wonderful agent," Steve said.

"She recruited me. Rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. after what happened with Hydra . . . well, it's been tough. Anyhow, I'm supposed to take you and Sergeant Barnes to Director Fury's office," he said.

"Lead the way," Steve said.

Bucky followed behind, impressed by the Director's office when they got there. It was large, with a leather couch and two leather chairs facing the desk. Director Fury sat there, legs propped up on his desk, leaning back in his chair, talking on the phone.

He waved at them to sit while he finished up his call, shooing poor Agent Montero away.

"And you tell the Senator that the next time he thinks about cutting our funding that he might have a hard time justifying to his constituents why we got overrun by aliens on his watch!" he snarled into the phone before slamming it down in anger.

He took a deep breath, looking over at Steve and Bucky with a rueful smile. "Funding. It's all about the funding. Do you have any idea how expensive night-night guns are?" Fury shook his head. "You're here."

"We're here," Steve replied.

"How are you, Sergeant Barnes?" Fury asked, not unkindly.

Bucky regarded him coldly, still remembering what it felt like to wake up in a glass cell.

Fury waited a moment and turned to look at Steve. "How's your friend doing?"

"He's still adjusting," Steve said tightly.

"Really? How many times have you had to say that in the last twenty-four hours?" Fury asked.

"You called us in, sir," Steve reminded him.

"Yes, I did. I straightened out everything with payroll. Also, Natasha got a packet together for your friend here," Fury explained, taking a large manila envelope out of his desk drawer.

"She's worked tirelessly during the last twenty-four hours. In there, you'll find a valid birth certificate, driver's license, and Social Security card for Sergeant Barnes. Additionally, she was able to access all of his pending military benefits and have them deposited into a bank account for him. There's a debit card and PIN in there so that he can withdraw his funds. She also included a few credit cards in his name. Welcome to the twenty-first century, Sergeant Barnes," Fury said, holding out the packet.

Bucky nodded briefly, taking the envelope in his hands. The fact that someone he had fought, someone he had tried to kill, had done that for him was a bit overwhelming and he wasn't quite sure he could believe it.

"Wow. Thank you," Steve said.

"Don't thank me. Thank her. She felt bad about . . . everything," Fury said, waving vaguely at Bucky. "Now, Sergeant Barnes, you have an appointment with Dr. Smith in office eight."

 _Dr. Smith . . . . that's a horrible cover name. You'd think they'd go with something original_ , he thought cynically, but he nodded in a false show of obedience.

"And Rogers, Agents Romanoff and Wilson are waiting for you in training room six. She's showing our newest recruit all of our fun toys," he said with a shadow of a grin on his face.

"Thanks, sir," Steve said and Bucky followed him out of the room.

00000

After dropping Bucky off at the therapist's office, Steve walked over to the training rooms, smiling as he greeted both Natasha and Sam.

"How's Bucky doing?" Sam asked.

Steve shrugged. "Well, at least he's shaking his head no and nodding now, giving some type of indication that he's listening. It's more than before. Yesterday he was practically catatonic. Still, there were a few times today that I caught him just staring blankly, his eyes glazed over, not hearing a word I was saying."

"What he's been through . . . . he's not going to get over it quickly. And even when he is better, some days will be harder than others," Natasha said softly. "After the Red Room . . . .," she trailed off, looking away. "To be honest, I still have bad days; I still have flashbacks. The pain fades, but it never goes away completely."

"Nat," Steve began, his voice full of concern, taking a step towards her.

She shook her head. "It's fine. I'm fine. He'll get better, Steve. He will. He just needs time. Don't rush him."

Steve nodded. "Thanks . . . for everything. That packet . . . it meant a lot."

"You're welcome. Now why don't you help me get Sam up to speed on the night-night guns?" she said, a small smile on her face.

000000

Bucky walked slowly into the therapist's office. It was done in soothing dark colors, a small desk stained a rich brown at one end, matching bookcases lining one wall, full of clinical texts. The room had navy deep pile carpeting and he sank a bit as he walked. He knew that he was supposed to feel at ease but each step he took just made him more and more anxious.

"Hello, Sergeant Barnes," the therapist said, standing up from behind her desk. She was older, probably in her late fifties, slightly heavy-set with kind face. She wore dark pants and a white button-down shirt that seemed to be the de facto uniform for most of the female agents he had seen in the office. Her hair was dyed a warm golden brown, falling to her shoulders and she reminded him a bit of his mother and he was sure that was on purpose. He was certain that they specifically choose her to have him let his guard down around the therapist.

He wasn't going to let that happen.

"My name is Dr. Smith," she said. "Would you like to take a seat?" she asked, waving to the chaise lounge and a large chair next to each other, taking a seat in a wooden chair beside a small table. She picked up a notebook and pen as well as a small recording device. "All our sessions will be recorded so that I can review my notes. But, be assured, everything you say in this room is kept strictly confidential."

Bucky couldn't help but snort derisively at that. He was sure that the good doctor's notes would be typed up and sent to Director Fury before he and Steve had even left the building.

He took off his coat and chose to settle on the chaise lounge, lying down, placing his packet on the floor next to him. For some reason, the other chair reminded him too much of the chair that was used to wipe his mind and he couldn't bear to sit in it.

"Let's begin," she said.

Bucky nodded and then proceeded to completely ignore her for the rest of their hour session. He had learned to take his mind elsewhere when needed. He relived watching a baseball game with little Stevie, eating peanuts and yelling at the umpire. He relived his first date with Becky Jo, a girl he'd gone out with for a full six months, his longest relationship to date. He relived his mother baking snicker-doodle cookies and eating them still warm from the oven, the smell of cinnamon filling the entire apartment.

He didn't hear a word Dr. Smith said.

"It looks like our hour is up," she finally said, her words curt and clipped. "You know, this session is mandatory. If I can't see that you are trying to make progress, trying to engage . . . . then, you'll be remanded back into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody."

Bucky looked at the woman sharply, the threat lingering in the air between them.

"Since you're not up to talking at the moment, I have an idea," the therapist said. She rose, putting her pad of paper face down on the small table next to her and walked over to her desk. She rummaged around a bit, taking out a small, black moleskin journal and an unlabeled bottle of pills out of it.

She walked over to him, handing the journal and pills to him as he sat up. "The journal is so that I can get a bit of a glimpse into what you're going through. Write something everyday. It doesn't have to be a whole page. At this point, I'd be happy with a sentence. And the pills . . . . let's just say that S.H.I.E.L.D. has a cutting-edge R and D department. If you are having nightmares, and most people in your situation do, these should help. One every night, right before bed with a whole glass of water."

Bucky looked at the light brown plastic bottle, rattling it a bit, noting that it held only seven pills.

The doctor smiled at him. "You come back next week, you get the next week's supply."

 _Carrot and stick_ , he thought, disappointed by the obvious manipulation.  _Doesn't matter, though. I'll come back. If they'll keep those nightmares away, they're an answer to prayer. If I can sleep without dreaming, I'll come back every week._

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Ch. 9**

After the therapist's appointment, Steve took Bucky over to the base doctors' offices to have his arm looked at. The medical doctor on call was more than impressed by the speed of Bucky's recovery and she assured them that she'd be able to remove the cast the following week.

They rode back to the apartment in silence, Steve giving up on his attempts to draw Bucky into a conversation. Bucky looked out of the window at the gray January day, absentmindedly running his fingers over the packet Fury had given him. He didn't want to Steve to see the journal or the pills, so he had stuffed them both inside the large envelope, but he knew Steve could see the tell-tale bulge of the pill bottle.

Bucky followed Steve into the apartment, heading straight for his room, shutting the door behind him. He was tired, more emotionally than physically, and he desperately wanted some time to himself. He sat in his chair, fishing the little journal out of his packet, staring at it for the longest time, not having the faintest idea about what he was supposed to write.

00000

An hour or so later, there was a knock on his door. "Bucky, Stacy and Monica are back with your clothes. Do you want some lunch? It's nearly one," Steve said from the other side.

Stomach growling, Bucky got up from the chair. He laid the journal down on his bed, glad to have at least gotten started on his mandatory assignment. He picked up the bottle of pills, rolling it back and forth between his fingers, hoping against hope that they'd actually work for him that night.

He opened the door and walked down the corridor to the kitchen, hearing the women laughing with each other. "Hi, Bucky," Stacy said in a friendly tone as he came into view.

He looked at her and nodded, a brief, forced smile on his face. He felt like a heel, lapping up Stacy's hospitality and generosity without giving anything back, but he was pushing himself to his limits by just leaving his room.

Her friend was in the kitchen with her and Bucky looked at Monica in frank appreciation. She was wearing a short sweater dress that hugged every curve over a pair of dark leggings that celebrated her long legs. "Hoagie sound good?" Monica asked, when she caught him looking over at her. "We also made some tomato soup."

Bucky looked at the foot-long sandwich they had made, piled high with various meats, cheese, tomatoes, and lettuce and he smiled in earnest.

"Good. Let's eat," Steve suggested and once they had sat down, he said grace quickly before they began to eat.

"We weren't able to get everything that we wanted for you," Stacy said. "We went grocery shopping and I wanted you guys to have food in the kitchen for lunch, so we came back early."

Bucky shrugged, focusing on his meal, just glad to be eating. He ignored the rest of the lunchtime chitchat that floated around the table, counting down the minutes until he could retreat back to his room. Finally, he stood, walking his plate and bowl over to the sink and started back towards his room.

"Oh . . . Bucky," Monica began. "We got you a new electric shaver. You know if you wanted to . . . ," and she gestured vaguely at his face. She got up and walked over to the pile of shopping bags on the couch and took out a plastic package from one of them. "Here you go," she said as she gave it to him.

Bucky took the shaver, flashing her a quick smile before making a beeline to the guest bathroom. He ripped open the package and took out the instructions, figuring out how to use the device after a minute. He smiled as he shaved, glad to be feeling more like himself, leaving the scruffy look behind him. He grinned as he saw himself in the mirror, his face smoother than it had been in decades.

Then, he saw his hair. The Winter Soldier hair. He tore out the elastic band and his hair fell down past his shoulders. When he looked into the mirror, he flashed back to knifing a target, and having to brush his hair out of his face as he watched the man sink to his knees and gasp his final breath.

The hair had to go.

Right then.

Bucky charged over to the butcher's block in the kitchen. In a fit of rage and frustration, he grabbed the kitchen scissors that were resting there and stormed back to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him and began to viciously whack at his hair, leaving huge clumps of it to fall on the ground. In a few minutes, he calmed and began to laugh. While his hair was definitely shorter, it looked utterly ridiculous, with strands sticking out at odd angles.

There was a sharp knock on the door. "Buck, are you okay?"

Bucky opened the door and Steve stared at him before letting out a snort of a laugh. "Well, that's one way to go about it. You know, Bucky, we would have taken you to a barber if you wanted," Steve said, trying to keep a straight face and utterly failing.

"What happened?" Stacy asked. She joined Steve at his side and her eyes grew wide. "Oh, oh my," she said, covering her mouth and stifling a laugh.

"What are you guys . . . .," Monica began, before dissolving into a fit of giggles as she saw Bucky's hair.

Bucky tried to close the bathroom door, but Steve stopped him. "Why don't we take you down and get you a proper cut? You'll feel like a brand new man."

Bucky clenched his teeth at the expression, reminding himself that Steve was just trying to help.

"I can do it. Do you guys have a pair of electric clippers?" Monica asked.

"You?" Steve asked, turning toward her.

"I used to do my brother and my dad's hair. I learned from my mom. It was cheaper than going to the barber's every couple of months," Monica explained.

"Let me get the clippers from our bathroom," Stacy offered.

"That sounds good. Right, Bucky?" Steve asked, obviously trying to smooth things over.

Bucky shrugged. He wasn't in the mood to go out again and anything was better than what his hair looked like now.

"Here," Stacy said, handing the clippers to Monica.

"Great," Monica said. "Now, I just need a towel and chair."

"I'll get those," Steve offered.

Once Monica had gotten set up in the guest bathroom, she shooed Steve and Stacy out. "I can't work if everyone's around."

Bucky felt a bit like a little kid, having his mom cut his hair in the bathroom, a towel draped around him. He went to the barber as an adult, but as a kid, nearly everyone's mother cut their hair. Getting your hair cut by a proper barber was a luxury that few could afford in his neighborhood.

"Oh, wait. I have an idea," Monica said, patting his right shoulder lightly before leaving the bathroom.

Bucky looked over at his shoulder, a bit bewildered by his reaction to the casual touch. He guessed it felt so odd because it was casual, just an attempt to reassure him, but it felt weird and unreal and he wasn't quite sure how felt about it. People didn't touch him. They treated him like a weapon, a loaded gun, a live grenade.  _I'm not safe to be around. They don't feel safe around me. They're just waiting for me to snap,_  he thought, shaking his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

She returned a moment later with an old photograph. It was a photo of him and Steve, taken when they were leading the raids against Hydra during the war.

"Do you want to look like that? Shorter on the sides and a bit longer on top?" Monica asked. "It helps to have a photo to go from."

Bucky took the photograph and looked down and his hands began to shake lightly. If only he could go back. Be that Bucky again. The Bucky that had always been on the side of right.

He took a deep breath and nodded, handing the photograph back to her. She placed it on the counter, giving him a wide smile. "Okay, let's get started."

He was suddenly aware of how near she was and he tried to focus on something else. Anything else. She smelled like lavender and he smiled as his mind made the connection.  _That's her bodywash in the shower_ , he thought.

She worked quickly and he was glad of it, definitely no longer feeling like he was getting a haircut from his mother. He felt her fingertips graze his neck as she brushed away a few errant hairs and he flinched.

"Awwww, are you ticklish?" she said in a teasing tone.

He just swallowed hard, trying to ignore her. Ignore the fact that he was alone in a bathroom with an attractive woman in the first time in decades.

He was doing a terrible job of it.

"Alright. You're done," she said brightly, ruffling the hair on top of his head. She walked out of the bathroom. "Come, look at my creation," she announced to Steve and Stacy.

Bucky took off the towel and looked in the mirror, happy with the results. He looked like he used to, back when everyone just knew him as Bucky, before the Winter Soldier ever existed.

"So, were there any ugly guys in the forties or where they all hotties like you two?" Monica asked him as he emerged from the bathroom.

"Monica," Stacy said with a pained expression.

"I've seen Steve's photos from before the transformation. He was adorable," Monica said. "And this one cleaned up pretty nice."

Bucky looked sharply at Monica, sure that she was mocking him and laughing at what Steve had been like before he changed. And yet, he could find no trace of cruel taunting in her words. Instead, she was looking at him in earnest appraisal.

"You know, I keep telling Steve that he was always cute, but he never believes me," Stacy said with a shrug.

"Well, their loss is your gain," Monica said lightly to Stacy.

"Okay, okay," Steve said, a bright blush beginning to creep up his neck and to his cheeks. "No need to go on like that."

"Well, as fun as it's been playing hairstylist to a superhero, I've got to go get a bit more shopping done. I think we should pick up a thick winter coat for Bucky, maybe a couple more sweaters, too," Monica said.

"I should probably stay here. I've got to get the pot roast started for dinner. It'll take a while," Stacy said.

"Okay, but you're missing out on some fun shopping," Monica said. "What time's dinner?"

"Ummm, six?" Stacy said uncertainly.

"I'll be back by then," Monica promised and headed towards the door.

Bucky watched Monica leave and one thought kept running through his head.  _She called me a superhero._

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Steve saw the look that played over Bucky's face as his eyes followed Monica and he couldn't help but smile. Some things really never changed, he guessed. Bucky was always one for the ladies, constantly setting them both up on awkward double dates that ended with Steve and a girl making stilted small talk while Bucky and his date gazed lovingly into each other's eyes.

Steve shrugged. He couldn't blame Bucky. Monica was a beautiful girl and he bet Bucky appreciated having her around. Steve had been worried about how Stacy and Monica would act around Bucky, but he couldn't have been prouder of the both of them, the way they spent the last day going out of their way to find ways to make Bucky feel comfortable and welcome.

"Sir," JARVIS said over the intercoms embedded in the walls.

Steve tensed. JARVIS having access to their apartment put him on edge. Tony promised that he'd never use the AI to spy on him again, but Steve had his doubts at times.

"Yes," Steve said curtly.

"Your presence is requested in the lab," JARVIS informed him.

"Why didn't Bruce just text me?" Steve asked.

"It's Mr. Stark, sir. And he anticipated your question. He told me, quote, 'Texting is for teenagers. There's a reason I use JARVIS, so you can't ignore me. Now get up to my lab,' endquote. I am sorry, sir. Those were his exact words," JARVIS said apologetically.

Steve rolled his eyes. That sounded like Tony.

"Alright. I'll be right up," Steve said.

"Very good, sir," JARVIS replied.

"Oh," Steve said, looking around the room, realizing that he was about to leave Bucky alone with Stacy. Bucky saw the hesitation on Steve's face and his own face just crumpled. Bucky turned and briskly stalked his way back to his room, closing the door behind him.

Steve looked at Stacy. "Go," she said, "I'm sure everything will be fine. You have to have faith in him. If anything happens, JARVIS is right here."

But, they both knew that if anything happened, any help would arrive too late.

"I could stay," Steve offered, clearly torn.

"Go. If Bucky is really going to be staying here in the apartment with us indefinitely, he'll be alone with me sooner or later. It will be fine," she reassured him firmly.

He crossed the room to her, taking her in his arms. "You really are amazing. One in a million," he said before gently kissing her.

"Right back at you," she said. "Now, go before JARVIS breaks in with yet another message from Tony."

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_Of course, Steve doesn't trust you with his wife. He loves her. You're a cold-blooded murderer. You can't even remember all the carnage you've caused. Why would he trust you? You're just a sick, twisted thing. You're a monster. You're a killer. Why would anyone ever trust you again?_  Bucky's thoughts were running again and again in a loop. He tried to calm himself, but he just got more and more agitated, pacing around his room.

A gentle knock came on the his door. "Bucky?" Stacy said.

Bucky took a deep breath and opened it, forcing himself to calm down.

"I need to ask for some help. Can you help me?" she asked simply, giving him a winning smile.

Bucky nodded hesitantly.

"Do you know how to peel potatoes? I've got to get dinner ready for the four of us and it is so much work. Could you help me out?" she asked.

Again, Bucky nodded and followed her to the kitchen where a large bag of potatoes and a peeler waited for him. He grinned, remembering how a friend of his in the Army got stuck on KP duty all the time and bemoaned the fact that he peeled potatoes so often that he did it in his dreams.

"Thank you so much, Bucky. I really appreciate the help," she said kindly as she began cutting up some vegetables on a cutting board at the kitchen counter.

For a while, they worked in companionable silence, Bucky peeling potatoes while Stacy worked. He'd glance at her from time to time. She was attractive, but she had the kind of beauty that didn't always show up in a photograph. You had to hear her talk, see her smile and then, you'd be hit by how beautiful she was.  _You're a lucky man, Steve. Good for you. She's perfect for you_ , he thought as he went back the potatoes. He grinned at bit as he looked at the pile of potatoes in front of him, fully aware of the manipulation she had used to ease the tension between him and Steve, more proof of her good nature. She had purposefully drawn him out of his room, pushed him out of his comfort zone by asking for help, knowing that he wouldn't refuse.  _You watch out, Steve. She's good_ , he thought wryly.

Bucky could see Stacy's eyes flick over to the cupboard under the sink, time and time again, especially when she thought he wasn't looking. Finally, when her back was turned, chopping up some carrots, he stood and deftly opened the cupboard and felt around the edges, his mouth turning to a grim smile as his fingers closed on the cool metal of a gun taped to the side. He took it out and turned towards Stacy, clearing his throat slightly.

She whirled around, the large butcher's knife still in her hand, the tension mounting between them. Bucky realized his mistake, that he had scared her unnecessarily. He handed it over to her with a cocked eyebrow. She snatched the gun from his hand and laid the knife down on the counter.

"Did Steve tell you what happened to me? That Hydra took me right before our wedding?"

Bucky shook his head.

Stacy looked down at the gun in her hand. It was pointed towards the ground, but her finger was still on the trigger, caressing it lightly. "It's just a night-night gun. You know, non-lethal," she took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't know if I could handle shooting someone with a real gun."

Bucky tensed at that.

She must have felt him shift because she looked up, tears already welling in her eyes. "Sorry, sorry. I know that both Steve and you have had to, in the past. You've saved a lot of lives. I just . . . I just couldn't. Anyhow, for months I had a bodyguard wherever I went and I finally got Steve to call them off after the wedding. I hated being followed all the time. I felt like a prisoner. My every move was being watched. Steve made sure we got a night-night gun, instead."

"But, what I don't tell him is that I still have nightmares about it. Even though in the end everything turned out alright. I still close my eyes and see people shooting and men yelling. Sometimes, I'll watch a movie or read a book and start crying for no good reason. And then I feel silly and stupid because Steve faces that every day without becoming such a wreck."

Bucky looked at Stacy and he wished he had the words. The words to say that she wasn't weak, that she was just human, she was normal. That what she was struggling with was what people went through. That she didn't need to pretend for Steve or anyone else.

Instead, Bucky gave her a half-hearted smile and put out his hand. Stacy slowly handed over the gun, her hands trembling, and he returned it to its hiding place.

Stacy let out a soft sigh. "Thanks, Bucky."

He took up the knife she had laid down and finished chopping up the carrots for her.

"Wow. You're really good with a knife."

The irony of her statement almost made Bucky laugh.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Ch. 10**

The next few weeks had their ups and downs for Bucky. Some days were good. He'd eat his meals with Steve and Stacy, even helping out with the dishes, and watch old black and white movies with them in the den or the living room. He'd look through Steve's old photo album and grin at the happy memories it evoked. He remembered their times as kids, Steve always being brave, never backing down from a fight. He remembered taking art classes with Steve, impressed by his friend's talent and natural ability. He remembered, with awful clarity, the moment someone ran into their class one day, yelling that the war had started.

The war that never seemed to end for him.

The war that he was still fighting.

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Monica came over every other day, usually spending the night in the second guest bedroom, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit he looked forward to seeing her. Both she and Stacy were unfailingly kind, but he could tell that Monica went out of her way to make him smile or shake his head with some of her outrageous comments or quips. He'd never really had many female friends before, despite all his time as a ladies' man, and it was refreshing, the easy comradery that developed among the four of them. He still couldn't get over how quickly both women had accepted him, how hospitable and caring they both were.

It had taken Bucky a while to get used to having two female roommates, but after a few false starts, he learned quickly enough. He started knocking very loudly whenever he opened the bathroom door after nearly catching Monica changing to shower one morning. Luckily, he heard her shriek loudly enough to avoid embarrassing her even further. He learned to tolerate a bathroom that reeked of perfume and hairspray and a laundry room full of drying ladies' undergarments hanging from every conceivable perch, telling himself it was a small price to pay for free room and board.

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After a week, Bucky met Bruce Banner. Steve had invited him to the apartment for lunch, wanting Bucky to meet his friend.

"Hi," Bruce said when he arrived around noon on a Monday, holding out his hand to shake.

Bucky had looked at him a while and then tentatively shook the man's hand. For a moment, he wondered if Bruce didn't know who he was, what he had done. He treated Bucky just like anyone else would when meeting a stranger on the street.

After shaking his hand, Bruce gave him a big smile. "I'm not big on small talk either."

Bucky smiled and nodded while the two of them talked, fascinated by the fact that the gentle scientist and the brutish Hulk were the same man. Bruce was quiet and self-effacing and Bucky could see why Steve enjoyed his company.

"So, how are things going with you and Betty?" Steve asked as he piled Bruce's plate high with meatloaf and mashed potatoes left over from the night before.

"Good . . . well, okay."

"What's up?" Steve asked.

"She's got a great research job at the university in Colorado and I'm here. Eventually, we need to compromise. One of us will have to move or . . . . The research I do in Tony's lab is beyond state of the art. I'll never have access to this kind of equipment again. But, she has her dream job. Tenure track. She waited her whole lifetime for this," Bruce shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah. That's rough. Spending six months away from Stacy nearly killed me," Steve confessed.

Bucky tensed, knowing he was the reason that they had been apart for so long.

"We'll figure something out," Bruce said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"I know that you will," Steve reassured him.

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However, while some days were good for Bucky, some days were bad. Very bad. He wouldn't shower, wearing the same grubby sweats and T-shirt that he'd slept in the night before. He wouldn't shave, rubbing the stubble that grew so quickly and reminded him of his past. He'd shut himself in his room, not leaving it for hours at a time, waiting until both Steve and Stacy had left the apartment before daring to come out, bolting food straight from the refrigerator before nearly running back to the safety of his bedroom.

He still had flashbacks that made him tremble and gasp in shame and horror. His brain just wouldn't shut down, no matter what he'd try. He'd reel from one nightmarish memory to another, shaking and sweating from fear and guilt. Sometimes, his mind would run in loops of self-hate; he'd tear into himself, berating himself for every failing and misdeed.  _You're worthless. Look at the destruction you've caused. You're a murderer. You're evil. Everyone hates you. Steve is only being nice to you to pay you back for the past. He can't stand what you've become. You tried to kill him. You tried to kill his friends. You're damaged. You're broken. No one wants you. You should just leave. You should just go. You're destroying Steve's marriage by pushing in like this. No one can stand you. How much blood is on your hands? How many people have you killed? When are you going to snap again? How many people are you going to murder then? You are sick. You are weak and depraved. They do so much for you and you do nothing back, holing up here in your room like a child. You should just leave right now. No one would miss you. They'd be glad to see the back of you._

But he wouldn't leave. Even on his worst days. Even on the days when he barely ate, making himself sick with anxiety and terror. Because he knew that no matter what, Steve would follow him. Steve would never give up on him. Steve had spent six months of his life criss-crossing the country in search of him. Steve worried over him like a mother hen. Steve was the most loyal person Bucky had ever met. Bucky couldn't leave and send poor Steve on yet another wild goose chase. Bucky couldn't do that to him again.

Even on his best days, he never left the apartment. Steve tried to get him to go out to eat and Bucky would just shake his head. Stacy would invite him to church with them and he'd just retreat back to his room. Monica asked him if he wanted to go out with him and get more clothes and he didn't even bother to try to reply. Every offer was roundly rejected.

His one exception was his weekly trip with Steve for his therapy sessions. And he wouldn't have even gone to them if they weren't mandatory, if they weren't the only way for him to get the medicine he needed.

The pills helped some. The nightmares were less intense and came a lot less frequently. But, they were still there. He soon became dependent on the medicine, never contemplating even taking a nap without having it.

During his therapy appointments, he'd lie on the chaise lounge in the doctor's office in stony silence. He'd let her questions wash over him, completely ignoring what she said. He'd count down the minutes in his head, taking his mind somewhere else, anywhere else, far away from her probing inquiries. She would tut and make disapproving sounds under her breath, but in the end, she'd always hand him a new bottle with exactly seven pills.

_Carrot and stick_ , he'd think, shaking his head at the heavy-handed manipulation.  _Carrot and stick. I'll keep coming as long as you give me my pills. I know how this works. I'm just a dog on a leash._

However, he dutifully filled out his journal everyday and turned it in to her every week. Some days, he wrote a single word. Some days, he wrote a page or two. Some days, he filled it with pain and expletives. Some days, he wrote calmly, contemplatively, trying his best to analyze what he was going through. _"They all want me to be better. I can tell. They want me to forget my past and just look on to the future. But I'm tired of forgetting. I don't want to forget anymore."_

Writing seemed to help some, getting the words onto the page instead of having them live solely in his head. At first, it nearly killed him to write, his hand shaking slightly as he did it. The words would form in his head, but he couldn't make them come out when he wrote. However, as he pressed on, the words would fly onto the page and he'd go into a sort of trance as he laid himself bare on the journal. He hid the journal in his room, paranoid that one day Steve or Stacy would find it. He couldn't bear the thought of them finding out the depths of what he was going through.

He still never spoke.

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"Morning, Bucky," Steve said hopefully as Bucky emerged from his room, dressed and shaved. It was the end of his third week staying with Steve and Stacy and the day before had been a bad day for Bucky.

Bucky flashed Steve a quick smile. He hoped that it would turn out to be a better day. The day before he had huddled in the corner of his room for hours, reliving a particularly gruesome mission he had completed, causing dozens of extra casualties. Worse than the flashback of his mission, however, was his "punishment" afterwards for botching the assignment and causing undo attention for Hydra. They had strapped him down to the chair, metal biting into his skin. They had wiped and rewiped him, pain searing into him. His back arched in agony as he tried to twist in his seat. He could feel his brain burning as the program rewrote itself over his memories and his past. He had whimpered and cried, clenching his teeth so hard that he tore the rubber bit between them in half.

"You okay, Bucky?" Steve asked.

_I don't know if I'll ever be okay again. Don't you get that? I can't be the Bucky you want me to be. That Bucky is dead and gone. Hydra killed him a long time ago,_ he thought.  _They've warped me and molded me into a live weapon. I'm not a person. I'm a just a killing machine. I haven't been human for so, so long._

But, he didn't say that. Instead, he bobbed his head up and down, trying to reassure Steve. He wanted to erase the look of worry and concern from Steve's face. He'd pretend if he had to, anything that would ease the tension.

"Alright," Steve said. "I made some oatmeal for breakfast. You hungry?"

Bucky followed Steve into the kitchen, realizing that Monica and Stacy had already left for work. He mentally kicked himself for not waking up earlier. He really enjoyed Monica's constant attempts to crack him up. The look of satisfaction on her face whenever he laughed was golden.

He sat at the breakfast table and ate his oatmeal, drowning it in walnuts, raisins, and brown sugar. After the third bowl, he finally pushed away at the table, taking his bowl to the sink and rinsing it out, along with his coffee cup and placing both in the dishwasher.

"Remember the time we ate all of your mother's chocolate cake?"

Bucky looked over at Steve, sitting on the living room couch and his mouth twitched in a grin. His mother had set aside a chocolate cake for a church social. Bucky had convinced Steve that she was okay with them having a few slices. They ended up eating slice after slice until the entire cake was gone. The two boys spent the whole rest of the afternoon in pain, their stomachs bloated and sore from eating so much.

Bucky's mother had been less than happy when she had found them, mouths still covered with the evidence of their crime.

"It took me years before I could eat chocolate cake again. Now, it's my favorite. But for about five years afterwards, I'd get sick at the thought of chocolate."

It had been the same for Bucky. Luckily, he had gotten over his aversion to chocolate fairly quickly.

"Stacy makes a great chocolate cake. Not as good as your mom's, but I bet you'd like it. Maybe, I'll ask her to make it some time. Hey, um . . . do you want to watch a movie? There's a Bob Hope marathon on," Steve said.

Bucky nodded, sitting down on the big easy chair in the living room. He had actually seen Bob Hope in person once. He was doing a USO tour through Europe to entertain the troops. Bucky had laughed so hard that his sides ached and he more than enjoyed the dancing girls that came on stage afterwards. He wouldn't mind spending a few hours laughing at the comedian's antics.

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Steve kept up a running monologue during the rest of the day whenever a commercial came on, something that Bucky no longer minded. He told Bucky about his favorite songs from a new band he'd heard, a new restaurant that Stacy had suggested for take-out, the outcome of a football game he had watched once with some friends. And Bucky nodded, beginning to appreciate Steve's attempt to connect with him, to make him feel at home.

That night, Steve made all of them an amazing dinner he told Bucky that Stacy had taught him how to make, pasta piled high with pesto sauce and chicken. Bucky dove in as soon as Steve finished saying grace, not believing how good the food tasted. He was surprised that Steve had turned out to be such a terrific cook, remembering that his friend used to have difficulty boiling water.

Once they had finished eating, Stacy bit her lower lip and smiled at him. "Bucky . . . I know that you don't like going out of the apartment, but next week is my birthday. We're all going to the movies together, me, Steve, Monica, and a couple of our other friends to celebrate. Would you . . . would you come with us? It would mean a lot to me." Stacy looked at him hopefully. "Please?"

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded. For weeks, Stacy had gone out of her way to help him out, the least he could do is attend her birthday celebration.

"Thanks, Bucky. I appreciate it," she said, a huge grin on her face as she got up to clear the table.

"That's great, Bucky. I know you'll have a good time," Steve said enthusiastically.

00000

"So, I heard you're coming to the big birthday party. Good for you. I'm glad that you're finally getting out of the apartment to do something fun. You deserve it. You've been cooped up here too long," Monica said the next afternoon, plopping on the opposite end of the couch in the den.

Bucky nodded, giving her a small smile. He always liked it when she came over to the apartment. Having Monica around made him feel less like a third wheel. Despite her kindness, he knew it had to be hard on Stacy to have to live with her husband's best friend.

"So, what are you getting Stacy for her birthday?" she asked, looking over at him.

Bucky froze. He hadn't even thought of it. He felt like a heel, not even considering a gift for someone who had done so much for him. How many loads of his laundry had she washed? How many meals had she cooked? All she had done for him and getting her a present hadn't even crossed his mind.

Monica smiled at the look on his face. "No worries. I'll help you out. She loves coffee. You can get her a gift card for her favorite coffee shop," she said, taking out her phone. "Just give me your credit card number and I'll have it emailed to her on her birthday. She'll love it."

Bucky got up and went to his room, grabbing his wallet. He returned to the den and handed it over to Monica.

"Wow. You must really trust me," she teased, taking his credit card out of the wallet and typing the number into her phone. "There you go," she said, handing it back to him and giving him the phone. "You can just put in the amount of money you want to spend and press enter."

He remembered how much coffee cost the last time he went to an overpriced coffee shop, so he made sure to make the amount cover at least a dozen drinks. He returned the phone to her when he finished.

"Ready to meet to rest of the gang?" Monica asked.

Bucky shrugged. He hated the idea of leaving the security of the apartment, but he couldn't see a way to back out now.

"You'll have fun. And don't worry, I'll be right there for you," Monica said. Then, she blushed a bit. "We all will," she added, snatching the remote control from the coffee table and focusing on the T.V.

He looked over at her a moment, puzzled by what she had said, but just shook his head and watched the screen.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Ch. 11**

On the morning of the Stacy's birthday, Bucky was awoken by a hurried knocking on his door. It was early for a Saturday, not even 8 a.m., and he thought it was a bit unusual for someone to already be up.

He stretched, smiling a bit to himself. Another night without a nightmare. It had been an entire week of freedom. A week of dreamless sleep. It felt like bliss. He was shocked at what a difference a decent night of sleep made. His mind felt clearer, more focused. He felt more centered, less emotionally driven.

He felt like Bucky.

He padded over to his door, shrugging on a T-shirt over the sweats he wore, and opened it to a beaming pajama-clad Stacy. "Oh, Bucky," she said, as she barreled into him, hugging him tightly. "I love it. Thanks," she said warmly.

Bucky looked in confusion over her shoulder to Steve a few feet away, giving him a wide smile and raising his coffee mug in salute. Then, he remembered. The birthday gift. She must have checked her email that morning.

Tentatively, Bucky returned the hug, feeling a bit awkward, relieved when she let go and stepped back a bit.

"That was really generous of you, Buck," Steve said, stepping forward and clapping him on his shoulder. "You made her morning. It was really thoughtful of you."

Bucky felt like laughing. He'd lived with them for nearly a month, rent-free. He'd eaten their food and availed himself of every scrap of hospitality they had given. A birthday present was the least he could do.

"I was going to make chocolate chip waffles with whipped cream for my birthday breakfast. Does that sound good, Bucky?" Stacy offered.

Bucky smiled and nodded. Just another example of them taking care of him.

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Monica came over later that afternoon, wearing the same outfit she had on when Bucky first saw her. She was obviously all dolled up for a special occasion. Her full lips were a deep red and smoky eyeliner highlighted her intense dark eyes. He sucked his breath when he saw her, realizing once again what a beautiful woman she was.

However, she was agitated and furious as she entered the den where Bucky, Steve and Stacy were watching a Clark Gable movie.

"You won't believe what happened to me today," she snarled as she came in the room.

"What happened?" Stacy asked, a worried expression on her face as she turned the volume down.

"Remember Chase?" Monica asked, pacing the room, hands gesturing wildly.

"Oh, yeah. That guy you were going to go out with when . . .," Stacy began.

"Steve and Bucky drove him off," Monica finished, waving towards the two men.

"In my defense, I don't think he's a very good guy, Monica," Steve said. "I had a bad feeling about him."

Bucky nodded. There had been something about that guy that had set his teeth on edge.

"Well, you were right," Monica said.

"What happened?" Stacy asked.

"I spent the last month convincing him that it was all a misunderstanding. I sent him your wedding photos, magazine articles saying that you lived at Stark Tower, the whole nine yards," Monica explained, ticking off the list of items on her fingers.

"And?" Stacy prompted.

"I invited him out to lunch today and then to the movies tonight with all of us," Monica said.

"Uh-oh . . . ," Stacy said, wincing in anticipation for the story to come.

"I waited at the cafe for him and he didn't show up. I texted him at least three times. Finally, he texted back an hour later. 'Sorry, I got a better offer'. Who does that?" Monica said, frustration coming off over her in waves.

"See, I was right," Steve quipped.

"Steve," Stacy said sharply, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Sorry," he replied, looking chagrined.

Bucky just shook his head. What kind of man does that? Makes plans with a girl and then just stands her up? Monica deserved better than that.

"I'm the one who's sorry. Guys are the worst," Monica said dramatically, flopping on the couch next to Steve and Stacy. "Present company excluded."

"Gee, thanks, Monica," Steve said wryly.

"Enough about my man problems. It's time to celebrate your birthday," Monica said to Stacy, shaking off her bad mood with bright smile. "Are you ready?"

"Yep. We'll just do a little dinner and cake here and then meet everyone at the movie theater. We wanted to make it low-key this year," Stacy explained.

Then, it hit Bucky. She had rearranged the way she was celebrating her birthday just to make him feel more comfortable. And he looked over at Steve and gave him knowing smile. Steve ducked his head a bit, but smiled back.

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They drove in Steve and Stacy's newly repainted car to the movie theater after dinner. Bucky was almost uncomfortably full from the lasagna that Steve had made to celebrate Stacy's birthday and from the delicious chocolate cake that Stacy had baked.

As Bucky sat in the back seat, next to Monica, he flashed back to all of the strained double dates he had forced Steve to go on. Only now, it was Bucky who was the silent, awkward one while Steve just beamed over at his wife, clearly in love. During the ride, Bucky kept looking over at Monica, in utter disbelief that she had been so cruelly treated earlier that day. After her initial outburst, she had just shook it off, acting like her normal, cheery self throughout the meal.

"Looking forward to the movie?" she asked, as she caught him looking at her.

He gave her a short nod, relieved at how at ease he felt at the prospect of leaving the apartment and meeting new people.

"Sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have gotten so upset. I should be used to that sort of thing by now," she said with a small sigh, looking out the rain-soaked window.

 _I should be used to that sort of thing by now she says,_  he thought.  _How sad is that? How many jerks are there out in the world? How many times has that happened to her?_

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Bucky was surprised at the small group of friends they had met at the theater. He had assumed that someone with Stacy's personality would have had dozens of friends turn out for her birthday, but as the group began to talk, he realized that she had intentionally kept the group small to make him feel more comfortable. He met a married couple, Erica and Micheal, who introduced themselves as Stacy and Monica's former roommate and friends from church. They were a sweet couple and they were excitedly talking about some advancements they had done in their research into cancer treatments. He met Josh, who was also one of their friends from church and who seemed to work for Tony Stark. He watched as Josh pulled Steve aside, giving him a big hug, obviously patching up some type of falling out.

Bucky did what he always did, smiled and nodded while the conversation whirled and eddied around him. He stopped paying attention after the first few minutes, already exhausted by the group, hopelessly lost as to who or what they were talking about. He looked over at Steve, and he felt a pang of nostalgia for the past. Steve was in the middle of the group, talking animatedly with everyone, obviously completely at home with these friends. And it made Bucky feel all the more lost.

For the longest time, it had always been just Steve and Bucky against the world. Bucky had tried to drag Steve into the world with double dates, meeting other friends, etc., but one by one, they all rejected Steve and Bucky had been the only one to stay by his side through it all.

Then, Steve transformed, but not just on the outside. Bucky realized it most acutely the time he saw Peggy flirt with Steve in the bar. Steve didn't need him anymore. Steve would do alright without him.

And he was proud of Steve. Proud that the world was finally seeing the true Steve, the little brother that he had always looked up to and admired.

But, an awful thought came to Bucky.

If Steve didn't need him, didn't need his friendship, his protection, his companionship, maybe, just maybe, he didn't want him, either. Maybe Steve would want to leave him behind, just like he left behind his old life. Perhaps their friendship was too marred by the memories of Steve's struggles for acceptance.

Seeing Steve, with an adoring wife, surrounded by a group of friends, the old fear came back.

"Hey, Buck, you okay?" Steve asked, breaking into Bucky's reverie, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Bucky nodded, because that was all he could do.

"Josh got us all tickets. Let's go in," Steve said.

There was the typical shuffling and reshuffling of seats and somehow Bucky ended up at the end of the row with Monica on his right. Steve looked over at him. "Sorry, do you want to switch?"

Bucky shook his head. He could surely handle a movie without Steve sitting by his side, baby-sitting him.

"I really shouldn't eat all this popcorn after that dinner. Here, have some," Monica offered, placing the bowl on his lap before he could object.

The movie was a standard detective set-up and Bucky figured out who the murderer was in the first scene. The sound was up to an almost painful level and the shaky camera-work made his stomach clench and he wisely decided to forgo the rest of Monica's popcorn.

About halfway through the movie, there was a car chase and all of a sudden, he flashed back to his assassination attempt on Director Fury. He could hear the screeching of tires, see cars flipping over, smell the acrid, smoky flames around him. His breath came out in hurried pants and he felt consumed by a blind panic.

And then, he felt Monica gripping his right hand. "It's okay, Bucky. It's okay. I'm here. It's okay," she said into his ear, her hot breath tickling his neck.

He felt ashamed that she had caught him in his moment of weakness. And yet, he couldn't help himself, clutching onto her hand, closing his eyes, desperately trying to claw himself back to sanity, using her voice as a lifeline.

A minute or two later, the scene shifted onscreen and Bucky began to quiet, his breath becoming more steady and regular. He let go of Monica's hand, and she gave him a quick squeeze before letting go herself.

"Hey, Bucky. If you ever need me, I'm here for you. Always," she said warmly before turning back to the movie.

For some reason, what she said meant a lot more than he thought it would.

000000

The next day, Steve winced at the perfunctory email he had just received from Fury. He'd been back at work at S.H.I.E.L.D. for nearly a month, and Fury was finally giving him a mission. He knew that this day would come, when he would have to go back out in the field, but he was still concerned. He knew that Bucky was making progress, but it came in fits and starts. The thought of leaving Bucky here at the apartment was worrying.

And then there was Stacy. Steve tried not to be anxious about her safety around Bucky, but he knew firsthand just how strong Bucky could be. If something were to happen . . . . A million different scenarios ran through his head. Steve remembered promising Stacy time and time again that Bucky would never hurt her, but in his heart of heart, he still had doubts.

"Why so glum?" Stacy asked as she entered the den, seeing him hunched over his work laptop.

"Could we talk . . . privately? In the bedroom?" he asked, closing his laptop. He stood, stretching slightly as he did, and walked over to her.

"In the bedroom . . .," she repeated with a saucy grin, her fingers gliding up his chest.

"Oh . . . that's not what I meant . . . but later though. Definitely later," he said huskily as he placed a kiss on her collarbone, reveling in her reaction to his touch.

"I'm going to hold you to that promise," she said, taking his hand and leading him out of the den.

Where they nearly ran into Bucky.

"Oh, sorry, Bucky," Steve said.

But Bucky saw them, hand and hand, flushed and embarrassed and he just gave them a smile, moving to the side, chuckling when he saw them open their bedroom door together.

"So what do we need to talk about?" Stacy asked once Steve closed the door behind them.

"I have to go out. On an assignment. It should be short. A couple of weeks at most. I'll be back by Valentine's Day. I promise," Steve said. He couldn't handle the idea of missing another holiday with his wife.

Stacy gritted her teeth. "But, I just got you back."

"It's been nearly a month. To be honest, I'm surprised Fury waited this long to call me back out to the field." He had hated looking at his work email, every day dreading the moment when he'd be recalled back to active service.

"I know . . . I just . . . I'll miss you," she said in a small, defeated voice.

"And I'll miss you. Look, we'll have Skype. I know it's not the same. But, I promise it won't be like before."

She looked down at her hands. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," and her voice broke on the last word.

"Stacy . . . ," he took a deep breath, debating his next words carefully. "Fury would only release Bucky if I promised to come back to work for S.H.I.E.L.D." He knew he couldn't keep the secret any longer from his wife.

"Oh . . . Steve," Stacy said, looking up at him. "So, this is some kind of blackmail?"

"Well, let's just say that Fury is an expert at manipulation. Look, I'm trying to do the best that I can here. I do believe I can do some good working for S.H.I.E.L.D. And Fury, for all his faults, has done a lot for us," Steve said. He remembered how devastated he had felt when he thought Fury had died. Although they clashed time and time again, he was proud to serve under him.

"Alright," she said reluctantly. "Please be careful."

"You, too," Steve said. "Bucky . . . "

"Don't worry about him. Monica and I will watch out for him."

"I know. You've both been amazing to him. Just . . . sometimes I worry for your safety," Steve confessed.

Stacy tugged him closer, kissing him. "We'll be just fine. He's never done anything that's worried me and he's been here for weeks."

"The hole in his wall . . . " Steve began, rubbing her back, missing her already.

"Was probably because of a nightmare. You've had them yourself," she pointed out.

Steve winced at the memory of screaming out in his dreams once and waking Stacy. He nodded. "Okay."

She kissed him again. "Now about that other promise," she said with a cocked eyebrow, her hands sliding up his arms.

"That one, I can't wait to keep," he said, smiling down at his wife, drawing her even closer and began to kiss the hollow of her throat.

00000

Later that day, Steve found Bucky in the den, watching an old episode of "Hitchcock Presents", the volume turned up loud.

"Hi, Bucky," Steve said, clicking the T.V. off and standing in front of his friend. He was nervous about how his friend would take the fact that he was going out on an assignment. It was a calculated risk, but he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to put Fury off before his director attempted to take Bucky back.

"Um . . . I have to go out. On a mission. For S.H.I.E.L.D."

Bucky stood to face him, concern on his face.

"It'll be a week or two, tops. But, Bucky, I need you to watch out for Stacy and Monica for me. You'll do that for me, Bucky, won't you? Make sure that they're safe." Steve gave him a smile. If it was one thing he knew he coud count on Bucky for, it was protecting others.

Bucky nodded.

Steve hesitated, before continuing. "And . . . don't do anything stupid till I get back," Steve said.

Bucky looked sharply at Steve and Steve froze for a moment, wondering if Bucky had forgotten what he had told Steve his last night before shipping out to England.

"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you," Bucky said, his voice hoarse.

Steve's eyes widened in pure joy to hear his best friend finally speak after weeks of silence. "You're a punk."

"Jerk. Be careful," Bucky replied. His voice sounded stronger, firmer.

Steve wrapped his hand around the back of Bucky's neck, drawing him into a fierce hug. "You're back," he said, feeling a burden of worry being lifted off his shoulders.

Bucky clapped Steve on the back and let go. "I don't know if I'm back, but . . . I'm on my way."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter!


	12. Chapter 12

**Trigger Warning** \- There's another one of Bucky's nasty nightmares in this chapter. If you'd like to avoid it, just skip the large italicized section near the end of the chapter.

**Ch.12**

Steve left early Monday morning. Bucky made sure he got up in time to see his friend off, reiterating his promise to watch out for both Stacy and Monica. Stacy clung to Steve, covering his face in kisses, choking off a sob when she finally let go.

"Call me as soon as you can," she said plaintively.

"I will," Steve promised. "I love you."

"I love you more," she said, surging forward and hugging him tightly once more.

"Not possible," he said, kissing her and stroking her hair and then gently disentangling himself from her grip. "Now, I really do have to go."

She nodded, clearly overcome by emotion. Steve gave Bucky a quick wave before closing the door behind him.

Stacy stood there a moment, blowing out a long breath. Then, she turned to Bucky, giving him a small smile. "Guess it'll just be the three of us. Monica's coming over after school. She's planning on staying here while Steve's gone. I hope you don't mind."

"No, that's fine. It'll be great," Bucky said, a bit relieved. Things would be easier with Monica around. He still wasn't much up for talking and he knew the two of them could keep themselves occupied for hours at a time.

"I'm going to go get dressed for school," Stacy said abruptly, waving at her pink flannel pajamas.

"I could make breakfast. Coffee. Maybe some toast and eggs," Bucky offered. His culinary skills weren't too advanced, but he could swing a simple breakfast.

"That'd be great, Bucky. I really appreciate it," Stacy said softly before heading back to her bedroom to get ready.

000000

Once Stacy left for work, Bucky tackled the breakfast dishes, unloading the dishwasher and loading it back up. He looked around the apartment to see if there was anything else he could do to help. He washed a few loads of laundry, wincing when he realized it was the first time he'd pitched in and helped out around the apartment. If he was planning on staying at their apartment for a while, the least he could do was help out with the chores while Steve and Stacy were at work.

By noon, the apartment was as clean as he could manage it and Bucky was beginning to feel a bit lonely. He had spent nearly every waking moment with Steve during the last month and Bucky felt his absence more strongly than he thought he would. Stacy and Monica wouldn't be home until after four and Bucky didn't really know what to do with himself. He didn't feel like reading or watching T.V. Stacy had said that he could use her laptop whenever he wanted, but surfing the Internet didn't really appeal to him either.

There was knock at the door a few minutes later and Bucky knit his brows. He didn't remember Stacy mentioning anyone coming over that day. He sat down the random paperback book that he had picked up and walked over to the apartment door, peering through the peephole, smiling when he saw who was waiting in the hall.

"Hi," Bruce said as Bucky opened the door, a smile on his face.

"Hi," Bucky replied.

Bruce's grin widened. "Wow! You're talking! That's great . . . um," he scanned the front room, "Is Steve here?"

"Uh . . . no. He went out on a mission," Bucky explained.

"Oh . . . okay. He didn't tell me. That's alright. Um . . .maybe we'll have all lunch when he gets back," Bruce said and turned to leave.

"Um . . . I was just going to heat up some leftovers. Stacy made way too much spaghetti and meatballs last night. Do you . . . do want some?" Bucky asked hesitantly.

Bruce turned back around and broke out in a huge smile, patting his stomach. "I'd never turn down some of Stacy's cooking."

Bucky smiled, walking over to the fridge to get the food out. "Yeah, she's a great cook."

Bruce closed the front door. "You're lucky. I miss Betty's cooking. Although, truth be told, I haven't gotten to eat all that much of it," Bruce said as he followed Bucky over to the kitchen.

Bucky winced, remembering the strain between the two of them. "How are things?"

"Still the same. Neither of us is willing to give an inch at the moment. She loves where she's at and I'm doing some of the best research of my life since I came here. I really feel like I'm doing some good working with Tony. Making up for all the destruction I've caused. All the lives I took."

It took a moment for Bucky to put it together. "But . . . what the Hulk did . . . that wasn't you."

Bruce gave him a wry smile. "Don't you feel responsible for what the Winter Soldier did?"

"That's not the same," Bucky protested as he took out two plates and piled them high with leftovers.

"Whether or not I had any control over what 'the other guy' did, he still used my body to do it. I can still remember all of the chaos, all of the violence he committed. I still fight him every day," Bruce confessed.

Bucky nodded in understanding. "There are days, I can still feel The Winter Soldier's voice in the back of my head, assessing threats, looking for escape routes . . ."

"I haven't transformed in nearly a year. And when I did, I controlled him, not the other way around," Bruce said.

"What happened?"

"Hydra kidnapped Stacy. Steve needed me. I want to take this terrible curse and be able to use it to help someone else," Bruce said.

Bucky thought for a long moment. He put the first plate in the microwave and turned it on, pressing the "dinner plate" button. "I don't think I could do that. If I ever got into a combat situation again . . . if I ever let him out again . . . maybe I'd never get control over him afterwards. I'm worried that maybe . . . maybe, I'd never be Bucky again."

Bruce sighed. "I know what it's like to live with a monster lurking inside. But don't sell yourself short. If I'm not to blame for 'the other guy's' actions, then you're not to blame for what the Winter Soldier did."

Bucky smiled at how Bruce turned his own words on him.

Bruce continued. "I lived with the guilt and shame for years. But . . . helping other people . . . I don't know. Somehow . . . it helps me."

Bucky gave Bruce a weak smile. Helping other people sounded great, but he could barely make himself leave the apartment.

000000

Around nine on Tuesday morning, there was yet another knock on the apartment door. Bucky had been debating about whether or not he was going to try to make it to his ten o'clock therapist's appointment. He figured he could try to take the subway to the nearest stop and then walk the rest of the way. He could easily walk or run for miles without even feeling winded. Making it to the base would be no problem, but the idea of leaving the apartment made him feel panicky and nervous.

He took a deep breath and opened the door as the person knocked again, wondering if it was Bruce. Instead, a somewhat familiar figure stood in front of him.

"Hi, I'm Sam. Sam Wilson. I'm a friend of Steve's," the man said, a good-natured smile on his face. He was wearing a plaid long-sleeved button down shirt and jeans, and it took Bucky a moment to place him.

"I . . . . I tried to kill you," Bucky said abruptly when he recognized him, drawing back, shame filling him.

"That you did. You remember. I did try to kill you back, you know," he said with a chuckle.

"I'm sorry. I . . . I couldn't control what I was doing. It . . . it wasn't me," Bucky stammered.

Sam gave him another reassuring smile. "I know that. I do. Anyhow, Steve texted me. He wanted to see if I could take you to the base for your appointment," Sam explained.

For a moment, Bucky was upset that Steve had sent a babysitter to escort him to the base. Being monitored like that made him feel smothered. But, given the fact he had almost decided to miss his appointment, he could see the rationale behind it.

"Okay," Bucky said, giving in and giving Sam a small nod. "Just let me go get my coat."

"Nice threads, man," Sam observed once Bucky left the apartment and they started towards the elevator.

Bucky looked down at his outfit. It was an outfit that Monica had picked out and bought for him, his black boots, jeans, a black v-neck sweater and a charcoal gray double-breasted woolen coat that came down to his knees.

"Uh . . . Monica got them for me," Bucky said.

"Monica?"

"Stacy's best friend. She lives with us about half the time," Bucky explained as they stepped into the elevator. "Parking garage," he told JARVIS and the elevator began to descend.

"Monica? Is she single? Is she hot?" Sam asked with an amused expression on his face.

 _Yes and definitely yes_ , Bucky thought. But for some reason, he couldn't form the words. "She's nice," he hedged.

"Nice? Let me guess. She's got a great personality," Sam said, shaking his head.

"Yeah. She teaches third grade at Stacy's school. She also volunteers at their church nursery, watching the babies. She has a really good heart. She does a lot of volunteer work. She's a good person," Bucky said.

"Third grade teacher, devoted church girl, great personality. I get the picture. Oh well, at least you all seem to be getting along," Sam said offhandedly as they reached their floor and the doors opened to the underground garage.

Bucky smiled, feeling slightly guilty at manipulating Sam, but telling himself that he hadn't actually lied at all. He had just been selective about the truth to paint a very specific picture of his part-time roommate.

He didn't stop to think about why he felt the need to do that.

000000

"Um, hi, Doc," Bucky said as he entered her office, feeling awkward and self-conscious. Before, he'd just stride in and plop himself on the chaise lounge, zoning out for the hour that the doctor grilled him.

"Hello, Sergeant Barnes," she replied, standing up from behind her desk and beaming at him. "It's so nice to hear your voice," she said with a twinkle in her eye as she walked over and settled down in the chair next to the chaise lounge.

"Yeah . . . well . . . . ," Bucky trailed off as he lied down, not knowing what to say.

"So, what changed? Why did you start talking?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Steve had to leave. Go out on an assignment. I could tell he was worried. I wanted to let him know that I was getting better," he replied.

"And are you? Getting better?" she asked.

"I . . . I think I am. I haven't had a nightmare in almost a week and a half thanks to those pills. I feel calmer, more like my old self." He gave the doctor a hopeful grin.

"Well, I'm sure that you will continue to make progress, Sergeant Barnes. However, the road to recovery isn't always smooth. You need to know that if you have a bad day, that it is simply that. One bad day. It isn't the course of the rest of your life. It is easy to believe that things will continue to get worse, but the more likely outcome, given the support you have, given the people who obviously care about you, given your determination to recover, is that you will succeed," she said.

Bucky gave her a wan smile. "Thanks, Doc."

000000

Later that same night, the doctor's words came back to him when he had yet another nightmare.

_Bucky got out of bed, stretching. Sunlight was streaming through his bedroom window and he could hear soft music coming from the kitchen. He dressed quickly and followed it, spotting Stacy near the island. Her back was to him and she was sipping a cup of coffee._

" _You made coffee," Bucky said, a smile in his voice. Waking up to a fresh pot of coffee always put him in a good mood._

" _Not for you. I'm not your maid," Stacy said harshly, turning to look at him with narrowed eyes._

" _I . . . I never said you were," Bucky protested._

" _How many loads of your laundry have I washed? How many meals have I cooked for you? Who goes out and gets all your groceries? While you spend your days lying in bed, whining like a petulant child," she sneered._

" _I'm . . . I'm sorry."_

" _Sorry? For what? For being an unwanted house guest for weeks or for trying to kill my husband?" she asked, advancing on him, her voice cold and hard._

" _It wasn't me," Bucky said._

" _You nearly made me a widow when I had barely become a wife. How many times did you shoot him, Bucky, two . . . three times? You nearly killed him. You shot him in the back. Like a coward. You weak, sniveling thing. You gutless traitor. You think I could ever forgive you for that? You're disgusting. You're reprehensible. You're worthless. You're evil. You're a murderer." All of the sudden, there was a gun in her hand, pressing against his temple. "There is no redemption. There is no coming back from what you've done."_

" _Stacy . . ." he began. Once again he couldn't move, couldn't avoid what was going to happen. He could feel the cool metal against his flesh._

" _Ha!" She gave a short bark of a laugh. "That's funny. You think I'm Stacy." And then her features seemed to melt away, revealing the Winter Soldier in her place, the gun still resting on the side of Bucky's forehead. "I told you I'd be back. I told you I'd destroy everything. And everyone."_

" _No," Bucky said weakly._

" _Oh, don't worry. I'm not here for you," the Winter Soldier replied._

" _Bucky? What's happening? Who's he?" Stacy asked desperately as she entered the kitchen behind the Winter Soldier._

" _I'm here for her," the Winter Soldier said, turning and aiming the gun at Stacy._

" _No!" Bucky screamed as the shot rang out._

000000

Bucky woke up, panting and sweating, tearing the comforter and blankets off of him, uncomfortably hot. It was the first nightmare he'd had in almost two weeks. The last image of the Winter Soldier firing the gun was burned into his brain.

Bucky knew that Steve had trusted him by leaving him alone with his wife. Steve had put his faith in him, faith that Bucky'd protect his wife, not try to kill her. The nightmare filled him with shame and guilt.  _What kind of person has dreams like that? I'd never hurt Stacy_ , he thought. Then, another voice came unbidden to his mind.  _But, the Winter Soldier would. He wouldn't even bat an eye. He'd do it without remorse, without regret. He'd be so quick, so efficient. She wouldn't even have time to scream. She'd be dead in the blink of an eye._

He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm himself, trying to claw his way back. He did a slow count to ten, consciously pushing the hateful vitriol out of his mind. He clung to the therapist's words, that there'd be setbacks from time to time, but he was steadily improving.

He stood and scratched his head. He peered at the alarm clock next to his bed. It read three a.m. in large red numbers. Too early to get up, but he couldn't go back to sleep just yet. His stomach growled and he padded towards the kitchen, surprised to see that the lights were on.

"Hi, Bucky," Stacy said, taking the milk out of the fridge. "I was going to make myself some hot cocoa. Do you want some?"

For a moment, Bucky froze, the dream still clouding his brain, half-expecting her to say something cruel and cutting. Instead, she looked at him with her usual kind, patient smile until he finally was able to respond.

"Sure. Thanks. Couldn't sleep?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Stacy nodded. "I had another one of those terrible nightmares," she confessed as she warmed the milk on the stove.

"Me, too," Bucky said vaguely. "What are you wearing?" he asked, waving towards her outfit.

Stacy looked down at her night-clothes, men's blue and green plaid pajamas that were so big she was nearly drowning in them.

"They're Steve's," she said sheepishly. "When I wear them, it almost feels like he's hugging me. I know he's only been gone a couple of days, but I miss him so much. I wonder if that's why I had the nightmare. It's the first one I've had since he returned. I was back in the warehouse, but Hydra was winning. People were dying all around me and then Steve . . .," she gulped and began to tremble. "It was horrible. There was nothing I could do to stop it."

"You could. . . . you could have one of my pills . . . if you wanted," Bucky offered. "My nightmares went way down after I started taking them."

Stacy shook her head and added chocolate to the milk, stirring it slowly. "Thanks, Bucky, but you need them."

"Another thing that helped me was writing things down. You know, like a journal or a diary," he suggested. "There's something about putting it all down on paper. I don't know. It helps to get it out of your head. If that makes sense."

Stacy brightened at that, pouring out a cup of hot cocoa and handing it to him. "That's a great idea. I'll definitely try that. Thanks, Bucky."

Bucky took the warm cocoa, sipping the rich drink, closing his eyes briefly to savor it. "Thank you."

Bucky smiled to himself. Maybe the doc was right. There'd be ups and downs, good days and bad, but there were people who were there for him.

Maybe he really was going to be alright.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note- I've gotten tons of requests to give poor Bucky a cup of hot cocoa, so I hope you liked that part!


	13. Chapter 13

**Ch. 13**

Late Wednesday evening, Monica and Stacy were buzzing around the apartment, getting ready to go to the gym together. They usually went two or three times a week after work and most Saturdays. Bucky had noticed that Steve usually went with them which seemed a little odd to Bucky. It wasn't like he needed to spend hours at the gym after getting the super serum.

"You should come work out with us," Monica said to Bucky, walking over and sitting next to him on the living room couch. He was spending more time out in the living room, trying not to always retreat away to the den or his room.

"Nah. That's okay," Bucky said.

"It's good for you," Stacy pointed out, gathering her long hair and securing it into a ponytail.

"I'm fine," he replied.

"It's a great way to get rid of stress. To zone out. To get out of your head and focus on your body," Monica added.

When Monica mentioned focusing on the body, he couldn't help but sneak a glance at her in her workout clothes, a grey tank top and black loose-fitting yoga pants. And while the outfit was hardly revealing, it was a welcome change to seeing her covered in five layers of turtlenecks, sweaters, and coats.

"Well . . . maybe," he said. He blew out a long breath. It wasn't like he had anything else planned and "getting out of his head" always sounded like a good thing to do. "Okay, I'll try it out. Let me get changed."

A few minutes later, he emerged from his room in a white T-shirt, grey sweats, and white tennis shoes. "Satisfied?" he asked Monica.

"Maybe," she said with a grin. "C'mon."

He followed them to the gym right next door to their apartment. It wasn't that he was averse to working out, he just didn't see the point of it. The serum pretty much kept him in peak condition whether or not he spent his time sweating in a gym.

"Steve likes to run on the treadmill when it's too cold to do it outside. I think it's because he remembers before he had the serum, when he couldn't even walk very far. It feels good to just let go and push your body to the limit, especially when that limit is a lot farther than it used to be," Stacy said.

Bucky looked at the treadmill with barely concealed disgust. It seemed a bit ridiculous to him to run on something like that, but he shrugged his shoulders and got on.

"The speed limit is twelve miles an hour. I know Steve can easily do twice that. You probably can, too, but it's better than nothing," Stacy said.

Bucky nodded and started the machine, easily hitting the maximum speed. Stacy was right; twelve miles an hour did feel a bit too easy but there was a sort of mindless rhythm that he got into and after a few minutes he began to enjoy himself. He focused on his breathing and the countless footfalls as he ran. He looked over at Stacy and Monica, side by side, bouncing up and down on their ellipticals, chatting away. He caught himself staring at Monica and forced himself to look away, aware that the mirrors that covered the walls would give away his focused attention on her.

After about a half hour, both women got off their machines, toweling themselves off. Stacy walked over to the heavy bag, putting on a pair of gloves. Bucky watched her for a few minutes, impressed at how well she did. He remembered Steve mentioning that he had taught her and it was evident that she had kept up her training during his absence.

Bucky saw Monica go over to the free weights. She began to rack more and more weight onto the bar, obviously about to do a bench press. He squinted a bit as he added up how much she was planning on lifting. Then, she laid down on the bench, her fingers curling around the bar.

"Wait," Bucky said as he saw what she was about to do. "You shouldn't be lifting that much weight without having a spotter."

"So, be my spotter," she shot back impishly, looking over at him.

Bucky sighed. "Alright, fine." He slowed the treadmill down until it stopped and then walked over to where she laid on the bench. He stood over her, hands ready to catch the bar if she dropped it. "Promise me you won't lift this much without a spotter. You could really hurt yourself if you dropped this bar."

"I promise," she ground out as she strained through the first rep.

"Good," Bucky said, staring down at her.

"Does that mean that you'll be working out with us from now on?" she asked warmly as she began the next rep.

Bucky shook his head, trying not to laugh as he realized the corner he had just painted himself into. "I guess I have to."

"Admit it; you enjoyed yourself," Monica teased.

"Alright. Alright. I did," Bucky confessed. There was something about just focusing on his body, on his muscles and joints working together, that seemed to free his mind and lift his spirits, if only for little while. Working out with Monica and Stacy a few times a week didn't seem like such a burden after all.

000000

Steve rested on his bunk on the hellcarrier, letting out a heavy sigh. He'd only been gone a few days, but he couldn't remember when he'd been so tired. Fury had him pulling sixteen hour days and although his body regenerated quickly, the heavy lifting and repeated strain was starting to wear even on him.

His mouth quirked into a grin and he shook his head as he thought of his "assignment". It was a glorified PR stunt. Fury was savvy. He knew that both S.H.I.E.L.D.'s and Captain America's reputations had been damaged by the revelations about Hydra and Steve disappearing for over half a year. So, here Steve was, helping to build an orphanage halfway around the world in a blatant attempt to boost people's perception of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Captain America.

Steve should have resented it. He had thought his publicity days were mostly over once he had stopped touring with the showgirls and hawking war bonds in the forties. He should have disliked the blatant manipulation. But, truth be told, he really didn't mind it. It was a welcome change from planning raids and rooting out the remaining remnants of Hydra's organization. The kids were adorable, and he had to admit, now that he was married, his thoughts turned more and more towards the possibility of him and Stacy starting a family of their own.

Thinking of Stacy, Steve stretched and got off his bunk. He padded over to his laptop and started it up, his smile widening when he saw that Stacy was already logged on Skype.

"Hi, sweetie!" she said brightly.

"Hi, doll. I'm glad I caught you before you went to school," he said.

"I saw you on the news!" she said excitedly.

"Yeah. It's not such a secret mission this time," he said ruefully.

"So, is Fury doing this just to make S.H.I.E.L.D. look better?" she asked.

Steve shook his head. He loved that she was shrewd enough to be completely aware of Fury's tactics. "Probably. But, I don't mind. Beats the alternative. And the kids are great."

"They usually are," she said, a twinkle in her eye.

Steve paused for a moment, wanting to broach the subject of when they might start thinking of having kids of their own. But, he hesitated. Having Bucky staying with them was probably more than enough to deal with as it was. There was no need to add more stress and anxiety to their lives, especially at the moment.

Instead, he gave Stacy a winning smile. "I miss you, but good news. I'll be home by Saturday at the latest."

"That's great," she replied. "Oh, here's Bucky."

"Hey! How're you doing?" Steve asked when his friend came into view.

"Good. I had lunch with Bruce on Monday and Sam took me to the base on Tuesday for my appointment," Bucky said.

Steve gave Bucky a hesitant smile. "Sorry. I probably should have told you about Sam. I thought he could help out."

Bucky shrugged. "It's alright. He seems like a good guy."

Steve nodded. "He really is. I don't know how I would have made it those six months looking for you without him. He's the one who ultimately found out that you were on Skid Row. And, he used to be in the Air Force as a Pararescue. He did two tours. Afterwards, he helped out at the V.A., working with veterans with PTSD."

"I bet he's a stand-up guy," Bucky paused a moment. "You coming back any time soon?"

Steve could tell that Bucky was trying to make the question seem casual, but he could hear the concern underneath it. He figured it had to be hard on Bucky, cooped up alone all day in the apartment with no one to talk to. "By Saturday morning, at the latest," Steve assured him.

Steve could see Bucky's shoulders relax and the tension leave his body. "Good. I . . . . There's a Three Stooges marathon on Saturday."

"I'll be there," Steve said with a smile.

00000

As promised, Steve returned home early Saturday morning. No one was up yet, so he quietly made his way into his bedroom. His wife was sprawled across the bed, fully taking advantage of the fact that she was alone in the giant bed. Steve chuckled when he saw what she was wearing, a pair of his favorite pajamas.

Her eyes fluttered open. "You're back," she said, a sleepy smile on her face.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Steve said softly.

"C'mon here. I've missed you," she said, beckoning him to come over and scooching over so that he could lay next to her.

He kicked off his shoes and jumped into bed. He kissed her neck as she closed her eyes and sucked in a noisy breath. "I've missed you, too," he growled. "Let me show you just how much."

"Please do," she said, her voice deep and inviting as she began to run her fingers through his hair.

00000

Steve and Stacy woke up a few hours later to the smell of bacon frying. They both dressed quickly and made their way to the kitchen, hand in hand. There Bucky stood, wearing his typical night clothes, a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, scrambling a dozen eggs in a large bowl.

"You're back," Bucky said and his smile couldn't have been bigger.

"I'm back and you're cooking?" Steve asked with a bemused expression on his face.

"Had KP duty a few times in the Army. And Stacy's showed me a couple of things," Bucky said.

There was the sound of a door opening down the hall.

"Good morning,  **guapo**. Oh, you made breakfast. You rock," Monica said warmly to Bucky when she came into view and spotted Bucky cooking. "Hey, Steve, you're back!" she said, running over to Steve and giving him a quick hug.

"You know, you used to call me  **guapo** ," Steve observed as she walked over to get a cup of coffee.

"You used to be single," she pointed out, turning back and looking at him with a cocked eyebrow.

"Touché," Steve said good-naturedly, shaking his head. "So, Bucky when does the marathon start?"

Bucky smiled. "In about an hour."

"Marathon?" Monica asked, perplexed.

"Three Stooges," Bucky explained.

"Three Stooges? Never heard of them," Monica said.

"What? They're legends," Bucky said, matter of factly.

"They hit each other in the head a lot. Steve finds that funny for some reason," Stacy explained dryly, sipping a cup of coffee and grinning.

"They have amazing comic timing. That's it, Monica. You have to watch some of the films with us," Bucky insisted.

"Okay, okay. I'll watch some with you," Monica said. "It's Saturday and it's freezing outside. Sounds like a plan."

For a moment, Steve looked at the two of them. He was glad that Bucky was getting along so well with Monica, but he wondered if there might be something else at play there that he just wasn't getting.

000000

After church on Sunday, Steve sat with Stacy and the rest of their friends at the nearby sandwich shop. "So, you guys have any fun plans for next Saturday?" Monica asked.

Steve struggled to swallow the massive bite of sandwich that he had just taken. The following Saturday would be Valentine's Day. He wanted to do something special for Stacy. Take her out on a romantic date to start to make up for all of the holidays he'd missed while searching for Bucky.

"I don't know. We probably shouldn't leave Bucky alone," Stacy hedged. "I don't want to make him feel bad."

"He's home alone right now," Monica pointed out.

"Yeah, but we invite him to church every Sunday. He's choosing to stay home. I don't know," Stacy said. "I don't want to hurt his feelings."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Steve said.

"Look, I'll Bucky-sit for you," Monica offered.

"Bucky-sit?" Stacy said with a laugh.

"Like baby-sitting, only unpaid," Monica said. "I'll keep him company."

"On Valentine's Day?" Stacy asked.

"It's not like I've got a better choice. I can watch Netflix and eat a pint of Rocky Road any night. Look, I'll keep him distracted and you and Steve can have a night out to yourselves," Monica said.

"Thanks, Monica," Steve said. Truth be told, he had been looking forward to spending some time alone with his wife.

"What are friends for?" she replied with a grin.

00000

After lunch, they made their way back to the apartment. Monica and Stacy began to get ready for the next school week, discussing lesson plans together at the kitchen table while cutting out red hearts for their classroom decorations. Steve went into the den where Bucky was watching a football game. "Hi, Bucky, we missed you at church," he began.

"I know. I just . . . .," Bucky trailed off. He felt bad for not going with them, a part of him really had wanted to go, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave the apartment.

"It's fine. I understand. Bucky, I'm thinking of taking Stacy out to a special dinner on Saturday night," Steve said tentatively. "Just her and me. You're okay with that, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course. A man needs to take his wife out. Treat her right. Of course, Steve," Bucky assured him.

"Oh, good. Great. Okay."

"I . . . I know it's hard for you both, me being here," Bucky said.

"No. No, it's not," Steve said firmly. "It makes things better. I would worry about Stacy, if I went out on mission, but I knew that you were here for her."

Bucky smiled. "I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did. Stacy said you were a big help around the apartment while I was gone. Thanks," Steve replied.

"It was nothing," Bucky said. If anything, he wished he could do more.

00000

On Tuesday, Steve drove Bucky to the base for his appointment. He took Bucky by the training room to say hi to everyone before going to see the therapist. Sam was there with Natasha. Bucky tensed when he saw Natasha, his memories of her interrogation causing him to feel queasy.

"Hello, Sergeant Barnes," she said.

"Hello . . . Agent Romanoff," he said hesitantly.

"You can call me Natasha," she said. "No need to be so formal. We're all friends here."

 _Are we?_ he thought. "Uh . . . call me Bucky."

"My man," Sam said, coming up and shaking his hand.

"So . . . you're working for S.H.I.E.L.D. now?" Bucky asked. Sam had mentioned some affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D., but Bucky didn't piece together that he was training to be an agent.

"Yep. I was unemployed for six months. I needed this job. It seemed like a way I could help. Plus, they let me keep the suit," Sam said.

Bucky nodded. The Falcon suit was impressive and he could see why Sam wanted to use it as an agent.

"So, how was building an orphanage?" Natasha asked dryly.

"Good. I mean, I know why Fury set it up, but it was actually a really good experience. Beats busting through a warehouse, guns blazing. Let's just say, it was a nice change of place. And the kids were amazing," Steve said.

"So, when are you and Stacy going to have a couple rugrats of your own?" Sam teased.

Steve blushed and looked down. "Maybe some time later. Things are hectic now."

Bucky tensed. Above all things, Steve was a horrible liar. Instantly, he knew why Steve wasn't planning on having a family any time soon. It was because of him. He was intruding in on their lives, causing them to put their plans on hold. Bucky swallowed and looked away.

"Uh, we should probably get going. See you next week," Steve said.

Natasha and Sam nodded. Bucky followed Steve out of the room. "Bucky, I . . ." Steve began, stopping in the hall.

"I need to get to my appointment," Bucky said curtly and hurried along without him.

00000

It was early on Saturday evening when Monica came into the den and sat down next to Bucky on the couch. "Hey, Bucky, can you do me a favor?" Monica asked.

"Sure," he said, clicking off the T.V. and turning to look at her. She rarely asked him for anything and he was more than happy to oblige.

She was dressed in a dark red, cowl-neck sweater and dark blue jeans which was a bit odd in and of itself. She had done her hair in soft curls and was wearing mascara and lip gloss. Normally, when she stayed in for the night, he noticed that she would change into a pair of sweats or yoga pants and an over-sized sweatshirt, taking out her contacts and donning the glasses she wore.

"I need to go to a sketchy area of the city. Would you mind coming with me? It'd make me feel a lot safer to have you along," she added, biting her lower lip and looking at him with pleading eyes.

Bucky blew out a long breath. "Can't Steve go with you?"

"Steve and Stacy have their big date tonight, remember?" Monica said.

"Oh . . . . okay. I'll . . . . I'll go," Bucky said. He dreaded the thought of leaving the apartment, but he just couldn't turn down Monica's request.

"Thanks, Bucky. I really appreciate it."

00000

"Aren't we taking the car?" Bucky asked as the elevator stopped on the lobby floor.

"No, Steve and Stacy are taking their car when they go out to dinner," Monica explained.

"Oh . . . . well, can't we just take one of the other ones?" Bucky asked.

"They all belong to Tony. I don't want to go through the hassle of getting permission to use one of them and then worrying all night about it getting a scratch or worse, getting stolen," Monica said.

"So, we're walking?" Bucky asked as they stepped outside, the frigid air hitting him as he left the building.

"You could probably make it, but not me. And definitely not in these boots," she said, waving down to her spike-heeled shoes. "We're taking the subway," she said as she began to walk toward the nearest station.

"The subway? Great," Bucky said, muttering under his breath. Being crammed in a metal tube with dozens of other people seemed like a horrible way to start off the evening.

000000

The subway car they were in was crowded. Bucky and Monica had been lucky enough to snag the last two seats. For some reason, people seemed in an overly romantic mood for a Saturday night and the car was full of amorous couples, staring lovingly into each other's eyes. Everywhere he looked, he saw couples holding hands, their head on their partner's shoulder or just kissing with wild abandon. He ended up staring at the ground, feeling ridiculous that the physical displays of affection all around him were embarrassing him so much.

The car stopped at the first station and more people poured into the car. There was an elderly couple standing next to them and without thinking, Bucky automatically stood to give the lady his seat. He was pleasantly surprised to see that Monica was doing the same and they both ended up holding onto the same bar in the middle of the car.

On the next stop, the car was filled with even more people to the point that Monica and Bucky were pressed into each other, their faces mere inches apart. Monica gave him a small smile. "Thanks for coming with me. I really do appreciate it."

Bucky licked lips and nodded. The car pulled away from the station with a jolt and instinctively, Bucky put his gloved hand to Monica's waist to keep her steady. Just as quickly, he dropped it self-consciously, looking down, looking anywhere but at her.

00000

The neighborhood that they arrived at didn't seem particularly rough to Bucky, but perhaps, he thought, appearances were deceiving. However, the sidewalks were clean and well cared for; the businesses were thriving. There was a distinct lack of graffiti or broken windows. There were also tons of people on the sidewalks, chatting or walking hurriedly through the cold night. Nothing about the scene before him felt at all dangerous to Bucky.

"Here we are," Monica said as she opened the door to pizza joint. While it was hardly upscale, it couldn't be classified as a dive either. The tables were covered with plastic red and white checked tablecloths with red vinyl chairs from the seventies. "That's Amore" by Dean Martin was playing softly in the background and the place was half-full with a variety of couples, none of which looked intimidating or worrisome to Bucky. He began to wonder just why Monica had asked him to come along.

He followed her as she got in line behind a few other people waiting to order, looking at the extensive menu on the sign above the cash register.

"Um . . . I'd like two combo pizzas and a pitcher of soda," Monica said when she reached the front of the line.

"Do you want to add in a plate of cannolis for five bucks more? It's the lover's special for the day," the guy said suggestively.

"Uh . . . no, that's okay," Monica said quickly and handed the man a wad of cash.

Then, Bucky's eyes widened. The chintzy read heart that decorated the pizza place. The couples at every table. The fact that Steve had wanted to take Stacy out to a "special dinner".

"You just put two and two together. Yes, it's Valentine's Day," Monica confirmed as she got her change and deposited in her wallet.

Bucky felt a wave of panic hit him. Here he was out with Monica on the most romantic night of the year. He couldn't do it. He didn't feel like he could handle caring for a goldfish, much less having a girlfriend.

"Monica, I . . ." he began. He looked down, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and began awkwardly shifting his weight from side to side. He didn't want to offend her. He didn't want to hurt her feelings. He had no idea how he was going to break it to her.

"Oh, wow. Wow. Oh, my. Don't look so freaked out. This isn't a date," Monica assured him airily as she walked over to an empty table, placing her purse on the chair next to her.

"It isn't?" he asked, uncertainty in his voice as he took the chair across from her.

"My Valentine's dates are way more upscale than this," Monica said lightly, gesturing to the casual eatery.

The tension left his body and his shoulders sagged in relief. "It's not that . . . I'm just not ready . . . ."

"Of course not. You've been through a lot. I mean, you've only been talking for what . . . two weeks?" she asked.

Bucky smiled, glad that Monica understood. The last thing he wanted was to lose one of the only friends he had.

"Now, Steve's basically your brother and he loves you like family. And Stacy loves you because Steve loves you and because let's face it . . . that's the kind of person she is. I, on the other hand, am just a friend, so I can give you the truth," Monica said.

"The truth?" Bucky asked.

"Bucky . . . you've got to get out of the apartment. Steve and Stacy need to be able to go out to dinner without worrying about you sulking at home. As nice a place as it is, you can't stay there all the time. . . . shut yourself away from the world," Monica said.

"It's safer that way," Bucky insisted.

"For you?"

"For the world," Bucky looked down at his hands, unable to meet her eyes. "You have no idea how I was before. The things I did."

"I saw the news footage of D.C. and read up a little on the Internet. S.H.I.E.L.D. can't censor everything," Monica said.

Bucky snorted. "That's just the tip of the iceberg. Monica, I was an assassin for decades."

"But that was before. You're better now." She reached across the table and placed her hand on his.

He pulled his hand away roughly. "Monica . . .," Bucky shook his head. "Do you know how hard it is for me to even get out of bed some days?"

"You came out with me tonight," she pointed out.

"You said you needed me," he countered.

"The world needs you. Don't hide yourself away. How about we take baby steps? You know on Wednesday afternoons, how we all go to the retirement center to visit the residents? Why don't you come with us? You'll brighten up their day," Monica suggested.

"Monica . . . I can't."

"You can and you will," she said firmly. She gave him a winning smile, tilting her head to the side a little. "For me?"

Bucky sighed. "Okay," he relented, not able to refuse her.

That seemed to be happening more and more lately.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note-
> 
> Rough Spanish Translation-
> 
> Guapo - Handsome (as in a handsome man)


	14. Chapter 14

**Ch. 14**

After the little misunderstanding about Valentine's Day, Bucky expected Monica to be shy or standoffish around him. He wished that he had explained himself better and was worried that he had really hurt her feelings. He was sure things would be awkward between them after he reacted so strongly and so negatively at the thought of dating her. Instead though, if anything, Monica was kinder and friendlier than ever.

The next day, she came back from church with an enormous hoagie for him, a lot better than the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that he had planned to eat for lunch.

"Thanks," he said, beaming as he unwrapped the enormous sandwich. "What do I owe you?" he asked, digging into his back pocket for his wallet.

"It's on the house. I . . . . I kind of felt bad about tricking you last night," she said, sitting down across from him at the kitchen table.

Bucky grinned. "That's okay. I understand why you did it."

"Still, I'm sorry," she said. "Now eat up. Once you're done, there's a Marx Brothers marathon on T.V. Steve mentioned that you liked them."

"Please don't tell me you don't know who the Marx Brothers were," Bucky asked incredulously after he had swallowed the first bite.

"Name one comedy troupe from Spain that were popular in the 1930s and we'll call it even," she replied with a wink.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head and putting up his hands. "Okay. Okay. You got me there."

00000

On Monday, he didn't know how it happened, but somehow, he had transitioned from just being Monica's spotter, to being her personal trainer. He kept pushing her to hold the bar a little longer, do just one more rep, add just a little more weight. It felt good to do something for someone else, to focus on something other than himself and his problems.

"You can do this, Monica," he said reassuringly as he saw her resolve start to falter on her second set of reps.

"I really can't," she ground out, her teeth clenched.

"Yes, you can. Just one more," he said as she began to lower the bar one last time. His hands were right there to catch it if need be.

Slowly, she raised it up and he helped her set the weight in place. "You did it!" he said encouragingly.

She laid there panting for a moment and then nodded and smiled up at me. "I've got a good coach."

0000000

Riding with Steve to the base for his Tuesday appointment the next day, Bucky felt more relaxed than he had in ages. He wasn't at all concerned about his friendship with Monica anymore. She seemed to have completely forgotten his momentarily overreaction to the idea of dating her and was determined to make him smile whenever she got the chance. She had teased him so merciously the night before while he was on the treadmill that he laughed until he nearly fell off the machine.

"You seem to be in a good mood today," Steve observed.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Bucky said. It felt like he was finally turning a corner. He hadn't had a nightmare since Steve returned and he felt more and more like his old self.

"Good. That's good," Steve said. Then, he gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Bucky, there's something I've got to tell you. I've got to go back out on assignment again. I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

"Again? You just got back less than two weeks ago!" Bucky said, trying not to shout. He couldn't believe Steve was leaving again so soon.

"I know. I know. But that was a glorified PR stunt. This is the real thing. Bucky, I'll do everything I can to be back for your birthday."

"My birthday?" That was March 10th, nearly three weeks away. A realization dawned on Bucky. His stomach began to clench in anxiety. "Your assignments. They're just going to keep getting longer and longer, aren't they?"

Steve tensed and nodded. "Probably. At least for a little while. Hydra formed almost a third of S.H.I.E.L.D. On top of that, so many of our operatives died last year. There just aren't enough good agents left. And recruitment's been tough. No one wants to sign up with an organization that got infiltrated by Hydra."

Bucky thought for a moment. He took a deep breath, making a decision. "Should I . . . should I move out? Doesn't seem fair to have Stacy have to deal with me in the apartment."

Steve kept his eyes on the road, but shook his head no. "Please don't. I makes me feel better, knowing you're there. Especially when I'm gone and Stacy's all alone. I know Stacy likes having you there. And, you're still recovering. After everything we've all been through, we should stick together," Steve said firmly. "We're family. That's what family does."

"Okay. Fine. We'll stick together," Bucky said glumly, looking out the car window at the overcast day, his good mood evaporated.

00000

Around four the next afternoon, there was a rapid knock on his bedroom door.

"Bucky?" Monica asked from the other side of the door.

Bucky winced. He was in a foul mood. He had struggled with one hellish nightmare after another the night before and had barely slept. He walked around the apartment alone most of the day in a haze, still wearing the sweats and T-shirt he had slept in.

He hated the fact that Steve having to leave had put him in such a funk. His therapist had warned him about it when he had told her yesterday. She had said that Steve was one of his lifelines and that he shouldn't be surprised if he felt a bit down once he left.

_A bit down?_  he mentally scoffed.  _Try having a full-on episode._

He had spent at least two hours in the middle of the day holed up in the corner of his room, whimpering, remembering a particularly nasty target he'd been given that he'd ruthlessly eliminated. The worst part is that he knew that his mind was playing with him and he still couldn't stop himself from curling up in the fetal position and rocking himself back and forth. Finally, he pulled out of it, getting up and grabbing his journal. He furiously wrote down everything he could, until his fingers began to cramp. He had been desperate to get the words down on the page and to get the images out of his head.

"Bucky?" she repeated.

"I'm . . . I'm not going to make it today. You and Stacy go to the senior center. I'll . . . I'll try for next week," he said, sitting on the floor of his room, his back against the wall. His knees were drawn up against his chest and his arms were wrapped around them.

"I'm coming in," Monica said brashly and opened the door before Bucky could protest.

"You look horrible," she said frankly as she saw him on the ground, hair mussed, his clothes stained and wrinkled, his face red-eyed and weary.

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine," he said hoarsely.

She crouched down so that she was at eye level with him. "Is this about Steve leaving for assignment this morning?"

"No," Bucky lied. "Look, I'm not up for going out, Monica. Maybe next week." He looked down, not able to meet her eyes.

"Nonsense," she said briskly as she sprang up and walked over to his closet. "Go; take a shower. We need to leave in half an hour. I'll get you some clothes."

Bucky popped up from where he was sitting, stalking over to the closet, snatching the clothes from her hand. "I can dress myself," he said testily.

"Well, obviously not," she retorted, waving at the dirty outfit he was wearing. "You can't stay here alone by yourself, Bucky. C'mon."

"Is everything alright?" Stacy asked, peeking her head in Bucky's room.

"I'm not going to come," Bucky said firmly. "I'm not up to it today."

"Yes, you are," Monica insisted.

"Bucky, if you need to rest . . .," Stacy began kindly.

Monica turned to Stacy "No. He doesn't need any more rest, Stacy." Then, she turned back to him. "Bucky, you need to get out of this apartment. You need to go take a shower and come with us. You can't stay cooped up in here any longer. It's been six weeks," Monica said.

"Please, Bucky," Monica added, her voice wavering slightly as she bit her lower lip. "Don't lock yourself away any longer. Please. You can do this," she said, echoing his own encouragement back to him.

Bucky let out a long, shaky sigh. "Fine. Alright. I'll go," he said. "But I'm picking out my clothes."

"Thanks, Bucky," Monica said, a smile engulfing her face as she squeezed his arm. "I promise you won't regret it."

000000

Bucky was silent during the car ride, trying not to his bad mood spoil the outing for the two women. They were talking happily about the residents that they were going to see. Soon, the car stopped and Bucky followed Monica and Stacy into the building. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, but Steve had warned him about it. It vaguely reminded him of when Hydra experimented on him from time to time; the antiseptic smell of the laboratory was overpowering at times.

Monica's black heels tapped their way down the linoleum hallway as she led the way to the Activity Center. There were a handful of nurses and about three or four dozen residents in there, most of whom turned and smiled when they strode through the door.

"We try to make the rounds. Talk to as many people as possible. Most of them really appreciate," Monica said. "Thanks for coming. I know you weren't in the mood for it."

Bucky nodded curtly and walked up to a elderly woman in her nineties, with short, thin white hair, sitting in an overstuffed chair. She was doing a crossword puzzle and frowning.

"Um . . . hello, ma'am," Bucky began, all at once nervous and not sure what he should say.

The woman looked up at him and gave him a faint smile. "Why, hello. Have a seat. Can't abide to have someone hovering over me like that."

"Yes, ma'am," Bucky replied, taking the seat next to her.

"Are you new?" she asked him, head cocked slightly to the side.

"My first time," Bucky confessed.

"Well, I'll be gentle with you," she shot back impishly. "I'm Mavis."

"I'm Bucky, ma'am," he replied. "Pleased to meet you," he said, sticking out his right hand.

She shook it, a glint in her eye. "Well, looks like your mama taught you some manners. Boys these days don't know how to act," she said, shaking her head.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied for lack of anything better to say.

"I like you. Don't you worry. I think you're going to do just fine, young man. Just fine," she said reassuringly, patting his knee.

00000

As he walked around the Center, Bucky recognized the desperation in a few of the patients suffering from dementia. Some of them knew that they were losing their memories and he could see the silent horror of that realization on their faces. It hit closer to home than it should have, the feeling of grasping for a memory and having it slip through your fingers. He was overwhelmed by a sense of pity and compassion for them because he acutely remembered the terror he felt at times when he couldn't separate fantasy from reality, the past from the present.

Encouraged by Monica and Stacy's examples, he tried to stop and chat with one resident after another, crouching down or sitting to make sure that he was always at eye level. Some of the senior citizens, particularly the women, were eager to make conversation. Some just smiled politely and waited for him to move on.

He came to a corner of the Activity Center and saw a man in his eighties, sitting in a wheelchair, a navy blue afghan tucked around his legs. At first, Bucky thought he was asleep, but after a moment, he could tell that he was simply observing everything with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Bucky stood there awkwardly for a moment while the man ignored him after he had said hello. He was about to move on to the next resident, when the elderly man spoke.

"What happened to your hand?" the man asked, his voice shaky as he pointed to Bucky.

Bucky looked down at his left hand. He was wearing a long sleeved black sweater, but his metal hand was still visible. "War injury," Bucky hedged, tugging on the sleeve a bit.

"Me, too," the man said, gesturing to the wheelchair. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Uh . . . in the Alps," Bucky said vaguely.

"The Alps?"

"It's a long story. What about you, sir?"

"Korea. Land mine. Nasty little buggers. My buddy took the brunt of it. Didn't make it through the night. They found me the next day. Patched me up the best they could. Never could walk again. You?"

"Fell off a train into a ravine. How long have you been here?" Bucky asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"A couple of months. I was having a harder and harder time taking care of myself ever since my Shirley died," the man's voice wavered on the last word.

Bucky sat down in the chair across from him. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, sir."

"Stomach cancer. Nasty way to go. She took care of me for years. After she was gone, I really couldn't manage by myself," he admitted.

"No other family?" Bucky asked, leaning forward.

"I've got a son, out in Vegas. He pays for this place. But, he's got his own problems. He drinks too much, gambles too much; he's got two, maybe three divorces under his belt, living with some woman now who's twenty years younger than him," he said dismissively, shaking his head.

"Do you hear from him often?" Bucky asked.

The man shrugged. "Once a month if I'm lucky. He comes out at Christmas every year and complains the whole time about the weather. Nothing I can do about it."

Bucky nodded sympathetically.

"It wasn't always like this. Time was, people took care of their families. Didn't ship them off to warehouses like this." The man sighed. "Still, I guess it could be worse. Those girls are nice. They come every week, rain or shine, brighten the place up a bit."

Bucky looked over at Monica and Stacy, chatting and laughing with the other residents. "That they do."

"You see that cute little redhead? She's married to the actual Captain America. Can you believe that? He even comes in from time to time. I used to collect his comics when I was a kid. I probably still have a couple of them. I looked up to him. I even enlisted because of him."

Bucky looked at the man intently, but there was no bitterness in his voice, no regret for the pain that decision caused him. Instead, his face was a haze of fond nostalgia.

"You know, I see that gal of his and I think, good for him. My Shirley was there for me every day for decades. It made life bearable, having her by my side. It's not good for a man to go through life alone. You need a partner. Makes everything better. That pretty girl from Spain? Is she your girl?" the man asked, pointing a shaking finger over to Monica.

Bucky shook his head. "No, sir, we're just friends," he assured him.

"Just friends?" the man snorted. "Back in my day, I never had a friend who looked like that."

Bucky looked over at Monica, trying to see her with new eyes. She was wearing a fitted plum dress with a peplum that skimmed over her body and her silhouette reminded Bucky of a movie star from the 1940s. She was beautiful, the kind of girl that would turn a man's head. But, he had seen her kindness, her compassion, her heart. By now, he knew her better than most of the women he'd ever dated. Bucky had learned long ago that "prettiness" only went so far.

"Guess I'm just lucky, then," Bucky said as Monica smiled in their direction and walked towards the pair.

"Hi, Mr. Johnson. How're you doing?" she asked when she drew near.

"Better now," he replied rakishly, waggling his eyebrows for comic effect.

"That's good," she said with an amused grin. She put her hand lightly on Bucky's back. "Bucky, we'll probably be leaving in about fifteen minutes or so."

"Okay," Bucky said and she walked over to another resident.

"Bucky? Bucky Barnes?" Mr. Johnson said.

"One and the same," he admitted.

"I thought you died. Back in the forties," the man said, his brows knit in puzzlement.

"So did a lot of people," Bucky replied.

"Did you get frozen? Like Captain America?" Mr. Johnson asked, staring at him intently.

Bucky grimaced. "Something like that," he said evasively, not wanting to go into all the details.

Mr. Johnson stuck out his hand. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

Bucky looked at the man's hand for a moment in bewilderment, but then grasped it and shook it firmly. "The honor's all mine, sir."

"Are you . . . . are you going to come back?" the man asked, hesitant hope dripping from every word.

Bucky took a deep breath. It could be him in that chair, at the end of his life, desperately lonely, praying for a stranger to come and talk to him once a week. He nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied. "Every week, rain or shine."

The old man's eyes were moist, but he just sniffed, playing it off. "That's good. Real good. I'll be looking forward to it."

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Ch. 15**

Steve counted down the minutes to when he could reasonable try to catch Stacy on Skype. Working in opposite time zones was getting harder and harder. Either he was trying to catch her before she left for work for the day or she was trying to contact him before he had to run a morning briefing. His working day started before six in the morning and he rarely was in bed before one. He could push himself far, much farther than other men could, but even he had his limits.

It didn't help that S.H.I.E.L.D. was grossly understaffed. Steve had a third of his normal team and they were stretched beyond thin. Most of them were unseasoned, with only a few years under their belts at most. Two of the agents on his team were brand new recruits on their first mission. At times, Steve felt more like a babysitter than a team leader. He winced at all the rookie mistakes that he'd had to deal with in the last few weeks.

They were so short-staffed since Hydra had thoroughly infiltrated the operations section of S.H.I.E.L.D. and killed many of the remaining loyal S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Then, there were also a large contingent of operations agents, that while not Hydra, still fled the organization in droves as S.H.I.E.L.D. began to disintegrate.  _Like rats fleeing a sinking ship,_  Steve thought grimly.

Running down Hydra agents around the world was a disheartening mission. It felt like he had really never finishing fighting, that he was back in the forties all over again. The fact that Hydra had so completely wormed itself into the very structure of S.H.I.E.L.D. sickened him. The amount of agents that he knew personally who ending up betraying S.H.I.E.L.D. was staggering.

He remembered what Rumlow had said in the elevator when a contingent of Hydra agents tried to take him down. That it wasn't personal. But, as he went through file after file of agents he knew, worked with, eaten meals with, each name was like a punch in the gut. Loyalty was something Steve valued above almost everything else and each betrayal, each lie ate at him. Every time he ended up taking down someone he had once called a colleague, an ally, his stomach would clench in revulsion.

He glanced at the time on his laptop, edgy and wanting it to go faster. He still had another few minutes. Not that it mattered that much. Stacy was more than happy to wake up early to talk to him. But, he knew she was less than enthusiastic that his mission was scheduled to last for so long and he was trying to make it as easy as possible on her.

He smiled when he hear the tell-tale beeping chime, letting him know that she had already signed in on Skype and had initiated a call to him. "You're up early," he observed when she came on screen, fully dressed and already wearing make-up.

"I . . . I wanted to make sure I caught you," she admitted, looking at him through lowered lashes.

"You look amazing. I don't ever remember my school teachers looking so good," he teased lightly. She was wearing an emerald cowl-neck sweater that made her eyes seem even more green, causing Steve to stare at her, once again struck by how lucky he was to have her as his wife. After a moment, she began to blush and fiddle with his mother's locket, the only piece of jewelry, other than her engagement and wedding rings, that she wore every day.

"Now, you're just flattering," she said, with a grin.

"Should I stop?" he asked.

"No, I want more," she said impishly.

"You just look so beautiful. I really miss you," he said simply. He thought it would be easier, only being gone a few weeks at a time, coming back home after every assignment. But Bucky was right. Steve knew that each assignment was going to get longer and longer. And unlike when he was searching the U.S. for Bucky, he had such a hard time time getting ahold of Stacy while on assignment on the other side of the world. During the six months he was looking for Bucky, he called or saw her on Skype every single night. Now, he was lucky to catch her once or twice a week. The difference gnawed at him.

"I miss you too," she said bravely and he could tell she wanted to say more.

"How are things going?" he asked.

"Good. Bucky's started coming out with us to the retirement center on Wednesday afternoons. He met another veteran, Mr. Johnson, and they're getting along great. They're like two peas in a pod. We have to practically drag Bucky away when it's time to go," she confessed.

Steve's smile widened. "Great. That's great. I'm glad." He noticed that she was fidgeting. "What happened?" Steve asked, concerned over Stacy's expression. "I know you want to tell me something."

She flashed him a quick, sad smile. "Oh, it's Monica. Her roommates are just atrocious to her. They take her food, borrow her clothes without asking; they're late with the rent. It's always one thing after another with them. She's tried finding another apartment, but no luck. Remember Chase?"

Steve's lip curled in disgust, regretting his decision not to teach the guy a lesson when he stood Monica up for that date. "What now?"

"One of her roommates actually started dating him. That was the 'better offer' he got when he bailed on Monica that one time. Monica walked in on them making out in the apartment. You can imagine how she felt."

Steve winced. He'd heard so many stories about Monica's terrible roommates, but that one took the cake. "That's rough. You know . . . I know things are hard on her. If she ever needs to move in permanently, that's okay by me."

"Really?" Stacy asked, rearing her head back.

"Definitely. Look, you've been wonderful about having Bucky stay with us. And Monica is one of our best friends. She's practically family. What am I saying? She  **is**  family," he said firmly.

"You're amazing. I love you. If things get really bad for her, I'll let her know."

"You do that. And I love you, too," he said.

"I'll go get Bucky. I think he's sleeping in. He was up half the night. Nightmares again. But I know he'd kick himself if he missed your call," she said.

"Okay," he said and let out a small sigh as he saw her go. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling more tired than he should. The serum could regenerate his body, but right now, that wasn't his only problem. He had seen the strain on Stacy's face, the separation pulling on her just as much as it pulled on him. And the worst part of it was that Steve knew that there was no end in sight. If anything, the next few assignments were shaping up to be even longer and more frequent.

"Hey, buddy," Bucky said as he came on screen, a smile on his face, but Steve noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey. How're you doing?" Steve asked.

"Good. Well . . . most days are good," Bucky said evasively. Steve could tell he didn't want to talk about it.

"Looks like I'll definitely be able to make it back for your birthday. It took a bit of rearranging, but I'll be there," Steve said.

"Oh, good," Bucky said, the relief evident on his face.

"How're you getting along with Sam?" Steve asked lightly.

Bucky scowled a bit. "Fine . . . It's just . . . he's a bit of mother hen, isn't he?"

Steve burst out laughing. Sam did have a special place in his heart for veterans dealing with PTSD, so Steve could easily imagine Sam fussing over Bucky, making sure he took his meds and followed the therapist's advice. Finally, when his laughing subsided, Steve wiped the tears out of his eyes. "Yeah, you could say that."

"He wanted me to go to a support group. For veterans," Bucky mumbled, looking away.

"Sounds like a good idea," Steve said, trying to be encouraging.

"Really? It's hard enough with the doc. Sitting around with a bunch of strangers . . .," Bucky trailed off.

Steve nodded. Growing up, nobody he knew had ever gone to see a shrink. And the idea of sitting in a circle with other people, talking about your problems, seemed uncomfortable and foreign. "Bucky, I know it's not easy, but Sam's an expert with this kind of stuff. I say you try it. At least once. See how you like it. When's the group?"

"Wednesday mornings."

"How about this? I'm a veteran. I'll go with you. Day after your birthday. You and me together. How about that, buddy?" Steve asked.

Bucky smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that'd be good."

Steve tried to reply, but ended up yawning instead.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" Bucky asked. "You look really beat. I'll go get Stacy and you can say good-bye."

"Thanks, Buck," Steve said, smiling once again when Stacy came into view.

"I love you," he said to her.

"I love you more," she said, her eyes shiny with unwept tears.

"Not possible . . . . I promise, I'll be back by the tenth," he said. "Bye."

"Good-bye," she said with a small sigh and quickly hung up.

And Steve knew, beyond a doubt, that she was crying at that very moment.

00000

Bucky woke up on the morning of March 10 and he didn't feel any different. He certainly didn't feel 98 years old. He sprang out of bed, glad of another good night's sleep.

His dream had been incredibly vivid and actually really pleasant, a trip to Coney Island in the 1940s. Except instead of him and pre-serum Steve riding the Cyclone until poor Steve got sick, it was the four of them - him, Monica, post-serum Steve, and Stacy. They had careened into each other on the bumper cars and stuffed themselves with fresh corn on the cob, hot dogs, and ice cream cones. They had joked and laughed until tears streamed down their faces. He had particularly enjoyed dreaming of Monica and him on the ferris wheel. She was clutching his hand tightly in fear as the seat they were in began to sway back and forth and he teased her for being a "scaredy-cat" while she clung to him, pressed against him. It had been the best dream he'd had in the longest time.

He could already hear Monica and Stacy talking in the kitchen. He threw on a sweatshirt over his T-shirt and sweats and padded over to the kitchen, following the overpowering scent of cinnamon and baked goods.

"Happy Birthday, Bucky!" Stacky said, launching herself at him, hugging him as he entered the kitchen. He returned the embrace, no longer feeling awkward. Then, Monica came around the kitchen island, wiping her hands on the apron tied round her waist.

Once Stacy let go, Monica wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. She planted a firm kiss on his cheek. He noticed that she held onto him longer than Stacy did and the truth was he was in no hurry to let go. She murmured softly in his ear, "Happy Birthday, Bucky."

Finally, she stepped back, a huge grin on her face and Bucky couldn't help but smile back.

"Steve just texted me," Stacy said excitedly. "He'll be back around five."

"Good," Bucky said. As much as he enjoyed spending time with Stacy and Monica, celebrating his birthday without Steve just didn't seem right.

"We made fresh cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, bacon, and fruit salad for breakfast," Monica said eagerly, waving at the kitchen table which had already been set.

Bucky's eyes widened at the feast laid out before him. "Wow. Thanks."

He sat at the table and the women sat down with him. "I can say grace," Stacy offered.

"No, let me," he said.

"Oh, that'd be nice," Stacy said.

Bucky took a deep breath, folding his hands together. He hadn't prayed aloud in decades and he felt rusty and self-conscious. "Uh . . . dear Lord, thank you for this food and for friends and . . . please watch over Steve."

"Amen," both women said in chorus.

"Thanks, Bucky," Stacy said, placing a hand on his right arm and giving it a quick squeeze, her eyes a bit misty.

"He'll be fine," Bucky said reassuringly. "Like you said, he'll be home in time for dinner."

"I know. I know. I just . . . I miss him," she said. She took a deep breath. "We should eat while these cinnamon rolls are hot."

Bucky nodded, sinking his teeth into the sweet pastry, almost moaning in delight. The women had baked a dozen huge rolls, but Bucky knew he'd eat most of them. He forced himself to set aside one for Sam for when he picked him up in a few hours to take him to his appointment. Sam loved getting homemade baked treats and Stacy and Monica always tried to leave a few extras for him.

They ate quickly, eyeing the clock. The women had to leave by seven to make it to school on time. When they finished, Monica and Stacy took their plates over to the dishwasher and began to clean the kitchen.

"I'll get it. You guys get going. You can't be late to work," Bucky said, shooing them off.

"It's your birthday, Bucky. You don't have to do the dishes," Stacy said.

"It'd be my pleasure. Plus, the dishwasher does half the work. Don't you have the early morning recess to supervise? You should get going," Bucky said.

"He's got a point. You can't afford to be late. The principal has been in foul mood lately," Monica pointed out.

Bucky gave her a confused look and Monica shook her head, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Enrollment for the next school year is down. Last fall, we had tons of reporters surround the school, trying to get an exclusive about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse. Steve was nowhere to be found, so they picked on poor Stacy. Dozens of parents just pulled their kids; they didn't want the hassle or controversy. And there were protestors at the school, too. They were so unbelievably nasty. We lost a lot of families last year and even though the school isn't hurting financially because of Stark's donation, they can hardly justify employing teachers to teach empty classrooms," Monica explained. "It's so bad, that I have to teach a 3rd/4th grade combo next year. We lose any more students and I'll be out of a job."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Stacy said firmly. "But, you're right, Bucky; we should get going. We'll see you at five."

"See you then," he said as they grabbed their bags and coats and headed out the door.

He eyed the mound of dishes, pots, and pans and smiled a little. His mother used to make a special breakfast on his birthday, a half dozen pancakes made with bacon grease. He would bound out of bed on his birthday to the smell of it cooking. Eating breakfast with Stacy and Monica had brought back fond memories of family.

He looked over at the mess and rolled up his sleeves. He made short work of the dishes. Truth be told, the work was a lot easier that cleaning up when he was a kid. He remembered once scouring a pot for his mother for ages, feeling like it would never get done. He grinned. His mother would have swooned over the idea of a modern dishwasher.

Once he'd finished, he showered and changed. He still had a few hours before Sam would arrive, so he decided to take out Stacy's laptop and and look up something on the internet. Mr. Johnson had been asking about a certain kind of candy that he used to have as a kid, Violet Mints. He had complained to Bucky that they didn't make it anymore, but Monica had overheard them and suggested that Bucky look it up online. Sure enough, after a few minutes of searching, Bucky had found the candy. He entered in his credit card number and had a small case delivered straight to the retirement center addressed to Mr. Johnson. He smiled, anticipating the grin on Mr. Johnson's face when he got his care package.

000000

As always, Sam showed up just on time to ferry him to his therapist's appointment at the base. He gave Bucky a huge smile when he opened the door, clapping him on his back and wishing him a happy birthday, grinning from ear to ear when Bucky handed him the leftover cinnamon bun.

"So, I was thinking we could go out to lunch afterwards. Celebrate your birthday," Sam said warmly.

Bucky balked at the idea of going out for a moment, but ended up nodding. He wasn't really looking forward to eating lunch alone in the apartment.

"Anyting you like in particular?" Sam asked good-naturedly.

Bucky grinned, thinking of all the months he'd spent combing through dumpsters for food. "I'm not picky."

"Have you ever tried Thai food?"

Bucky grimaced as a memory began to form. "Once. I had an assignment in Bangkok in the 70s. I remembered grabbing some food from a street vendor."

Bucky's left hand began to clench tightly as the memories came flooding back, a sniper shot from across an alley - quick, clean, efficient. It was a textbook assassination. Everything had gone according to plan. He remembered his handlers praising him afterwards, telling him what a great patriot he was. They said that he had made the world a safer place by eliminating the target, filling Bucky's head with lies, appealing to his innate desire to protect people.

His stomach roiled and his breath began to come out in short pants as the flashback overtook him. He looked down at his left hand and he couldn't uncurl his fingers which were forming a tight fist. That had been happening more and more lately and he was ashamed to admit he needed a technician to look at it. He stuffed his metal hand in his pocket, trying to hide it from Sam.

"You okay? You want to talk about it? We don't have to go to Thai food. How about Greek? You like Greek food?" Sam asked, concern written on his face.

Bucky drew a long, shuddering breath, forcing himself to focus on the here and now. "Greek sounds good," he said, forcing himself to smile.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked skeptically, peering at him.

"Yeah. Yeah," Bucky lied. "I'm fine. Just fine. How's the training going?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject.

"Good. The hardest part is getting used to a whole new bureaucracy. Fill out form A, subsection B, paragraph C and on and on. I thought I had gotten away from all that when I got out of the Air Force. But, it's fine. It looks like they'll be shipping me out soon on my first assignment. "

"So soon?" Bucky asked, trying to mask the concern in his voice.

"Well, they need the warm bodies. We just don't have enough recruits. We've got a working Falcon model from Stark, so they're eager to get me out in the field, help out some."

Bucky nodded. Steve had said as much, that S.H.I.E.L.D. had a fraction of the manpower that they had when they were at their peak.

"So is Steve coming back today?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Stacy said around five."

"Great. They both of you can come to the support group meeting tomorrow morning," Sam gently reminded.

Bucky couldn't help but smile. Sam's worry and concern about him had felt pushy and smothering at first, but now he had come to appreciate it. He was going to miss him.

He had to hand it to Steve. He knew what he was doing when he had sent Sam.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- Of course, I've seen quite a few different "official" dates for Bucky's birthdate, but one plausible one is March 10, 1917. It puts him as a year older than Steve (July 4th, 1918). Since events in this story happen the year after CA:TWS (2015), that would put Bucky at 98 years old.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Trigger warning** \- There's a scene in here about ⅔ down that talks about past emotional abuse.

**Ch. 16**

Five o'clock rolled around and Steve showed up right on time. There was a round of hugs and kisses, with Stacy clinging to him tightly.

"Um . . . Bucky, I'll be out in a minute or so. I've got to talk something over with Stacy," Steve said, clapping him on his back.

"Don't worry. Take all the time you need," Bucky said, grinning from ear to ear and Monica gave them a wink.

Steve and Stacy walked into the bedroom, hand in hand. Steve turned to face her, still grasping her hand, rubbing his thumb over her palm, taking comfort in just being near her.

"Stacy, I have to go back out. Tomorrow. By noon," he said, looking her in the eyes.

Stacy pulled back a little, letting go of his hand. "Why tomorrow?"

"Another assignment. We don't have enough agents. I need to go back out there," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"So, you're going to be here less than twenty-four hours? You've got to be kidding me," she said sharply and he could feel the frustration coming off of her in waves.

"Stacy," he began and he sat down heavily on the bed, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "A member of my team got killed."

"Oh, Steve," she said, her voice full of pity, taking a step towards him.

"It . . . it happened a couple of days ago. We were raiding a Hydra weapons facility that had gotten ahold of some of our tech. Half the scientists in there were ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. I . . . I knew we were out-numbered, but I just pressed on. He got shot within seconds of entering the building," he looked up at Stacy, the tears forming in his eyes. "Stacy, he was just twenty-three. It was his first assignment. He was so eager. I knew he was way too green. He wasn't ready. It's my fault," and his voice broke on the last word.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, that's not fair. I know you. I know you did the best that you could."

"I did this. I tore down S.H.I.E.L.D. And now, we're limping around, trying to take down house fires with a garden hose. I never thought it would get this bad."

"It isn't your fault, Steve. You saved the world from Hydra. You're saving the world right now. Every day. And I couldn't be prouder of you. You're my hero."

Steve shook his head. "I just got back. From informing his parents. He was their only child. At first, they were so excited to meet me. And then, their faces when I told them the news . . . .," he took a deep, shaky breath. "I've lost people under my command before, but this . . . we were just out-matched. S.H.I.E.L.D. is just a hollow shell of what it used to be. Stacy, I've got to go back out there. I can't have other people shoulder the responsibility for what I've done."

Stacy nodded. "I understand. I do. I'll miss you, but I understand," and she sat down next to him, hugging him tightly for a good full minute. They clung together in silence, drinking in the moment, taking solace in each other.

"Thanks. I needed that," he said.

"When . . . when are you going to tell Bucky?" she asked, her head against his shoulder.

"Later on tonight. After we celebrate his birthday. I don't want to ruin it for him. He's going to take it bad, isn't he?"

She nodded again. "He's doing better. A lot better. But, you being gone . . . it's hard on him. It's hard on me, too."

"I know. In three, maybe six months, we'll have rebuilt S.H.I.E.L.D. enough and I can have shorter assignments; be home more," he promised, squeezing her hand.

"Alright. I understand. I do," she said and gave him a wan smile.

000000

An hour later they were sitting down for dinner in the rarely used dining room. Stacy and Monica had made a banner that said "Happy Birthday, Bucky" and hung it up along one wall with streamers and balloons covering the rest of the room. At first, Bucky was a bit embarrassed at the over-the-top decorations; he was no longer a little kid. But, he soon warmed to the idea of having the two women fussing over him for his "special" day. They had cooked one of his favorite meals - a T-bone steak, thick and juicy, baked potatoes loaded with butter and sour cream, and fresh green beans with bacon. There were two long loaves of freshly baked French bread, still warm to the touch. He closed his eyes as he took the first bite of steak so tender that it melted in his mouth.

"Do you like it?" Monica asked, her tone hopeful.

"Like it? I'm seriously considering marrying it," he said.

She let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad. Stacy and I wanted this dinner to be special for you."

"Thanks," he said after he had swallowed another bite.

Steve looked across the table and smiled, but Bucky tensed. Steve always had a certain kind of smile when he was sad and trying to hold it in. He was a horrible liar. Bucky knew something was up and that Steve was keeping it from him, probably waiting until after the birthday celebration to tell him. Stacy looked unhappy as well, although like Steve, she was trying to hide it. Bucky hoped everything was alright between them; he knew that Steve being gone was putting a strain on the both of them.

000000

"Now, it's time for presents!" Monica announced gleefully once dinner had been eaten and the chocolate cake had devoured.

"Um . . . you guys didn't have to . . . ." Bucky protested.

"Liar. The best part of any birthday is presents. We all chipped in. It's from all of us," Monica said excitedly, handing him a small rectangular wrapped gift.

Bucky opened the paper carefully, remembering how his mother used to save and reuse any scrap paper that she got. He couldn't bring himself to tear it open.

"It's a phone," Bucky said, a bit perplexed. He barely left the apartment. He didn't really see the need to have a cell phone.

"It's more than a phone. It's basically a minicomputer. It takes photos, plays music, video; you can search the internet," Stacy explained.

"I know what a phone does," Bucky said dryly.

"And the best part is, now, I can bug you all day long, sending you texts," Monica said impishly. "Although, don't be mad if it takes me a while to text you back at school. I have a rule in class that if any of my students catches me texting during class time, they get a free homework pass."

Bucky nodded, giving her a smile. He'd seen both women, and even Steve, hunched over their phones, tapping out little messages to people. He supposed it was easier than talking on the phone, something that he had rarely done in the 40s. He didn't even have one at his apartment until he was nearly twenty-two.

"And I've downloaded a lot of my favorite music. You can listen to it while you run. And since you're signed in on the same Apple account, any photos you take will show up as the screen saver on the Apple T.V.," Monica said.

Bucky grinned, remembering the first time he saw photos of Stacy's birthday party show up on the T.V. screen in the den. He had to admit, his favorite was one of him and Monica, his arm slung around her, her smiling brightly at the camera.

"And, I got us season tickets. Baseball. The Yankees. I know they're not the Brooklyn Dodgers, but still . . .," Steve said, smiling at Bucky.

"Really?" Memories flooded back to Bucky of watching a game back in '41 of the Brooklyn Dodgers beating the Phillies. He could almost feel the sun on his face, hear the roar of the crowd, taste the hot, roasted peanuts. He remembered yelling at the umpire with Steve until they were both hoarse. He also remembered Steve nearly getting them in a brawl with a rowdy Phillies fan.

"Yeah. You remember Michael and Josh, Stacy's friends? They've got season tickets, too. So do Sam and Bruce. I was able to talk them into it," Steve said proudly.

At first, Bucky balked at the thought of going out in a huge group, but the more he thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea. He liked getting to know Bruce and Sam and Stacy had talked on and on about her friends. He decided he'd enjoy going out with them all and seeing a game. Hopefully this time it wouldn't end in Steve trying to instigate a fight.

"And we got one more thing," Steve said, a huge grin on his face. "It was my idea, but Stacy had to do all the legwork since I've been gone so long."

"Here, give me your phone. I'll show you," Stacy said.

And, within seconds, Bucky was looking at photo after photo from Steve's old photo album on his phone.

"I digitized all the photos Steve had of you guys from the 30s and 40s and uploaded them to your phone. I also have them stored on the Cloud to back them up," Stacy said warmly.

Bucky looked at the dozens of photos, a window into his past right there at his fingertips. There were pictures of him with his mother, photos of skinny Steve with Bucky resting his elbow on his shoulder, there were pictures with the Howling Commandos, all geared up for battle. "Wow. Thanks. Thanks, you guys," he said and ended up giving the both of them a fierce hug.

They had given him back a piece of his own life, his own history, and they had no idea how much that meant to him.

000000

Later on that night, Bucky was fiddling with his new phone when Monica came in the den and plopped down beside him on the couch.

"So, I've been dying to ask; why is it that you are so up with things like current events and technology? I mean, Steve was kind of floundering before Stacy came along," she asked.

Bucky set his phone down on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. "They woke me up, I don't know, dozens of times over the decades. Downloaded all the current information I'd need for the mission at hand. Heavily edited, of course, I found out later. But, I'd be a poor excuse for an assassin if I fainted at seeing a microwave or didn't know how to use a computer. But, pop culture, social things, well, obviously they didn't feel the need to update that kind of stuff."

"So that's why you didn't know who the Beatles were," she observed.

"Among other things," he said ruefully. "Tech or modern history or weaponry, they all don't faze me. Not at all. It's people. People have changed a lot."

"Not as much as you'd think," Monica said. "I mean, yes, I'm sure modern society is way different than in the forties, but people . . . deep down, people are just people."

"Maybe so. Doesn't always feel that way," he said quietly.

"Steve's the same, I bet," she pointed out.

Bucky shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I've changed too much."

"You've been through a lot. More than most people have in ten lifetimes. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," she said softly.

"I shouldn't . . .," he let out a bitter laugh and shook his head, looking down. "The things I've done, Monica . . . I'm not hard enough on myself."

"Hey," she said sternly, taking his right hand so that he looked up at her. "Hey, don't talk like that. You've said so yourself. You had no choice. That wasn't on you. It was them. Don't . . . don't blame yourself for what they did to you."

"Sounds pretty clear-cut when you say it," he said.

"It is," she said firmly, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go. "Now, what happened? You seem really down tonight. It's your birthday. Didn't you have a good time?"

"I just talked with Steve. He's leaving tomorrow. Taking Sam with him. They're both shipping out on assignment for weeks on end."

"Oh, no. That sucks. I'm so sorry," she said.

"It's fine," Bucky lied, a fake smile firmly in place.

"No, it's not," she replied. "But me and Stacy will still be here. You're not alone in this."

He gave her a wide smile, a real one this time. Thank goodness for that. He didn't know how he'd be able to make it without them.

000000

"Sorry, sorry we're late," Steve apologized to the therapy group as he and Bucky entered the large meeting room at the V.A. fifteen minutes late that next morning. He had spent a good half hour arguing with Bucky to get him to come that morning and they wound up running late.

"That's okay. We were just doing introductions. Take a seat," Sam said warmly. He was standing in front of about a dozen people who were seated in a circle, all veterans, most of them in their twenties and thirties.

"Um, hi. I'm Steve." As soon as Steve had walked in, several members of the group stared, obviously trying to place him. Before long, everyone seemed to have recognized him.

"Uh . . . Bucky," he said curtly as he sat down next to Steve, uncomfortable that so many eyes were on him.

"So, we were talking about any struggles we might be facing lately. Is there anything you'd like to share?" Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head, not wanting to open up in front of a bunch of strangers. Steve colored, evidently not eager to talk either, but he forged ahead.

"I'm still in active service, but with S.H.I.E.L.D. I had someone under my command get killed in the line of duty a few days ago. I actually just came back from doing the next of kin notification," Steve said. "It . . . it never gets any easier."

Quite a few members of the group nodded. Everyone in there had dealt with it in one way or another.

"No. No, it doesn't. It's something most of us have had to face in our lives. The loss of someone we knew. Someone we served with. Thanks for sharing, man," Sam said. "Anita?" he asked, gesturing to the woman who was sitting next to Steve and Bucky.

The petite brunette in her early thirties nodded. Her hair was in a tight, neat bun and she was wearing a black slacks and a cream-colored silk blouse. "Things are still really hard. I keep having nightmares, thrashing in bed, waking up screaming. My husband . . . he says he understands. But, he's an insurance adjuster. He lives his life pushing paper around. He's got no real idea about what I went through. What I'm still going through. I try to tell him. I try to let him in. But, I don't know."

Sam gave her a sad smile. "It can be hard, when we have loved ones, spouses, family members who don't know what it was like. Sometimes, they try to help. Sometimes, that help just seems to make things worse. I'd encourage you to keep coming, Anita. Because the people in this room, they do know what you've been through. And they are here for you so that you can be there for your family."

00000

Bucky didn't talk during the meeting, sitting ramrod straight in his chair, face set in a slight scowl. It was bad enough that he was forced to visit the doc once a week to get his meds. Adding another meeting, full of strangers, was just too much for him to take.

Slowly, however, after hearing story after story of what the other veterans had gone through, he began to lean in, really paying attention to what each person had to say. It was eerie how so many of them had the same reactions - skittishness, nightmares, depression.

He started to feel less alone.

When the hour was up, Sam spoke once more. "Now, as you all know, this is my last time leading this group for a while. Like Steve, I'm back in active service with S.H.I.E.L.D. and we're shipping out tomorrow. Rich, here, will be leading the group in my absence," and Sam pointed to a tall man with auburn hair and a shaggy beard. "I'm going to miss you, guys."

The members of the group began to surge towards Sam, shaking his hand or giving him a hug good-bye. Steve twisted in his seat and turned to Bucky, "So, you thinking of coming back?"

Bucky wanted to say no, but he saw the look of hope on Steve's face. "Sure, every Wednesday morning."

"That's great. Now tell me about your hand," Steve said. "I was waiting for you to bring it up, but I've got to leave in an hour and you haven't said a word."

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked.

"You've kept your left hand shoved in your pocket ever since I came back yesterday. What's the matter?"

Slowly, Bucky took his hand out of his pocket, still balled into a fist. "I can't . . . I can't get the fingers to open. I've tried. Sometimes, it'll work, but most of the time, it's just like this."

"Do you want some of the S.H.I.E.L.D. techs to look at it?" Steve asked.

Bucky recoiled from him. "No. I don't think I could handle that. All of them, swarming over me like locusts, drooling over getting a chance to dissect me."

"Alright. Alright. I get it. Um . . . how about Tony? He's a whiz at that sort of stuff. He built the Iron Man suit himself. He'll have you right as rain in no time," Steve said.

Bucky shook his head. "I can't. I . . . There's something you don't know," he said.

"About what happened to his parents?" Steve asked. "I know."

"You do?" Shame engulfed him. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to blot out the memory. "Does he?"

"No. Tony doesn't know. I haven't told him. Please, Bucky, let him fix your arm. Promise me you'll call him and have him look at it the next time he's in town."

"Steve . . ." Bucky pled.

"I mean it. Either Tony or the S.H.I.E.L.D. tech team. It's your choice," Steve said firmly. "You need to get that examined and fixed."

"Fine. I'll call Stark," Bucky said reluctantly.

"Good. Well, I guess this is good-bye. You're fine taking the subway back? I've got to take Sam back to the base for the mission debriefing."

"Yeah. I'll be fine," Bucky reassured him.

Steve smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You know, you really will be. I have faith in you."

000000

A week later, Bucky was at the retirement center with Stacy and Monica. He was coping the best he could with Steve being gone again. He was impatient with his own progress; mad at himself that Steve leaving again put such a strain on him.

He was glad to be at the center, though. Helping other people did seem to bring him out of himself, give him an anchor to hold onto. And Mr. Johnson lit up as soon as he saw him, eager to talk.

Once their usual time had run out, Bucky jogged over to Monica. "Hey, I'm thinking of staying a little later. Mr. Johnson seemed a bit down tonight. He hasn't heard from his son in weeks. I can just take the subway home," Bucky offered.

"Alright. Um . . . are we still up for working out later on? I need my trainer," Monica said with a smile.

"Sure, yeah. Definitely," Bucky said.

"Okay, see you then," she said before turning to leave.

000000

Bucky stayed longer than he had intended at the retirement center and ended up eating dinner with Mr. Johnson in an effort to cheer him up. Reluctantly, he tore himself away when he saw the time and realized he needed to get home soon to work out with Monica.

He waved to Stacy when he got home, making a beeline for his room. He stripped out of his street clothes as soon as the door closed and then threw on some sweats and a T-shirt, tying his sneakers as quickly as possible and then jogged next door to the gym.

Bucky spotted Monica at the free weights, sweaty and breathing hard, obviously just coming off the elliptical. He saw that she was lying down on the bench, attempting to lift more weight than she ever had alone, without a spotter. She was struggling and he surged forward and grabbed ahold of the bar to save her.

She smiled up at him. "Thanks, Bucky. I . . ."

"What were you thinking?" Bucky exploded at her, placing the weight on the rest. "You could have gotten yourself killed. I told you never to lift that much weight without a spotter!" Visions of her hurt or even killed swam in front of his eyes and he began to shake at the thought of losing her.

She got up quickly, avoiding looking at him. "Don't yell at me, Bucky," she said quietly, walking away from him.

"You have no idea how dangerous that is," he said harshly, his voice still raised as he walked behind her. "You just have no idea! Why would you take a risk like that?"

She grabbed her gym bag, eyes downcast. "Don't ever yell at me, Bucky," she said in a small, dead voice and then walked quickly out of the gym. He followed her out into the corridor, grabbing her arm to stop her before she reached the stairwell.

"Look, I'm sorry. Don't be sore," Bucky said in an attempt to smooth things over. There was something about the way she looked that shook him to his core. She was completely shut down as though she had almost folded in on herself. He recognized the look. He had been like that when he first came to live with them.

She stared at the ground, holding still, barely breathing. "Please, let go of me, Bucky."

Instantly, he complied and watched her fling open the door to the stairwell and practically race down the stairs.

He shook his head and returned to the apartment.

"I thought you were going to work out with Monica," Stacy said when he entered.

"So did I. I said something that upset her and she took off."

"Really? That's odd. What did you say?" she asked.

"She was lifting without a spotter so I gave her a bad time about it. She could have gotten herself killed. She scared me," he said defensively.

"Oh, no . . . you got upset and shouted at her?" Stacy asked.

"Well . . . yeah. I told her I was sorry."

"Oh . . . I know you didn't mean anything by it. It's just . . . Monica kind of shuts down if someone yells at her. She had something in her past . . . I shouldn't go into it, but it's not you, it's just that it's something that brings up some bad memories for her," Stacy explained.

Something triggering bad memories. Looks like they had more in common than he thought.

000000

Monica ended up spending the night at her apartment, the first time she had done that while Steve was gone. Stacy and Bucky got along fine that night, but Bucky felt on edge and ended up going to bed early.

The next morning, he got out his phone and decided to text her.

_**-You okay?** _

A few hours later, a reply came.

_-I'm fine._

And then a few minutes went by before the next one.

_-See you tonight ;)_

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Bucky spent the rest of the day going a bit stir crazy in the apartment. He ran for an hour on the treadmill, not even breaking a sweat. He punched the heavy bag until he broke the chain and it went flying across the room. He took a shower with the water on too hot, staying in there until the water ran cold and the fingers on his right hand began to wrinkle from being in the water too long.

He kept thinking about Monica and what had happened. The thought of her getting hurt had pushed him over the edge, causing him to lash out. The strong reaction scared him a bit, made him worry that he was once again unstable and unpredictable. He was worried that all his progress over the last few months was slipping away.

Monica and Stacy arrived around four. Monica gave him a small, reassuring smile as she entered, but his eyes widened when he saw her. Usually, she was careful about her appearance for work, always looking well put-together. But now, there were dark circles under her eyes, her messy hair caught up in a short ponytail, and her clothes were wrinkled.

"Monica, could I talk to you? In the den?" Bucky asked once she put down her purse and messenger bag.

Monica nodded and followed him in. He sat on the couch and patted the place next to him. She sat down, turning to look at him.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have gotten so mad," Bucky said.

"It's okay, Bucky. I understand. I just needed some time is all."

"Stacy wouldn't tell why you were so upset," Bucky said, letting the question hang in the air.

Monica sighed. "Not much to tell, really. A while back, I dated a guy who would scream at me, yell at me, humiliate me . . . the whole nine yards. And afterwards, he'd apologize. Profusely. Flowers, expensive gifts, romantic nights out. But, then, he'd always tell me it was all my fault because he was worried about me, embarrassed by me, one thing after another. And I believed him. I let him hold my self-worth in his hands. A part of me knew it wasn't right. Knew that he was just manipulating me. But I didn't think I deserved more. That I deserved better."

"Stacy, good friend that she is, brought me out of it. I started going to church with her more often. Started to see myself as valued, as precious, as loved," she looked down, tears in her eyes.

She closed her eyes for a moment before looking up at him. "I started to believe it. As broken and as imperfect as I was, as I still am, I am loved by God. And that made all the difference. I was able to break free from my past. Not that it still doesn't hurt and it still haunts me sometimes. Some things still bring me down, set me off, but I don't let it control my life. I'm stronger now because I know longer believe the lie that my worth is based on what by an ex-boyfriend thinks of me."

"Where is he now?" Bucky asked, his right hand gripping the sofa.

"Why?" Monica asked, her brow furrowed.

"I just thought I like to have a little chat with him," he said darkly. "Maybe teach him a lesson or two."

Monica let out a soft laugh. "That's sweet of you. Really it is. But it was over two years ago and I have no idea where he is. And I don't want to know."

"JARVIS could track him down," Bucky pointed out.

"Hey . . . hey . . . no going after evil ex-boyfriends," she said in a teasing tone, but there was a note of concern underneath.

"Okay . . . fine," Bucky relented.

Monica leaned over, placing her hand over his and giving him a reassuring smile. "Hey, I'm okay. I'm better than okay."

"I know you are," Bucky said simply. And for a moment, he looked at her. Really looked at her. Hearing what she had been through, seeing how she was now, it almost felt like he was seeing her for the first time. Her compassion and empathy had forged a connection between them. She understood what it was like to come out the other side of something that had threatened to destroy her.

"We all have ups and downs. Things that bring up bad memories. But, I want you to know, you're going to be okay, too," she said. "I know it."

Bucky was starting to believe her.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- Yes, the "evil exes" line was a reference to "Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World". Bonus, Chris Evans plays one of the exes in that film.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note-** Yet another trigger warning. The large, italicized section about two-thirds of the way down deals with a nasty flashback from one of Bucky's assignments as The Winter Soldier. Feel free to skip it if makes you uncomfortable.

**Ch. 17**

After their little talk, things quickly got back to normal between Monica and Bucky. She kept teasing him constantly, pulling him out of even the foulest of moods with her good-natured banter. She texted him throughout the day, sending little notes of encouragement or jokes constantly to his phone. He soon got addicted to checking it, feeling a bit like a Pavlovian dog whenever he heard a ping that announced a new message. It helped him to feel less lonely during the day, knowing that she was on the other end of the line.

He got texts from Steve, too, although not as frequently due to his hectic schedule. Still, it helped Bucky cope with his absence, knowing that he could reach out and just send him a message, anytime, day or night.

00000

"I hate my roommates," Monica said flatly as she came in the apartment one Saturday afternoon.

"Really?" Bucky asked, flinging a pillow from the couch gently at her. "What have we done now?"

Monica easily caught the pillow and punched it for emphasis. "No. Not you guys. The other ones. I just went over there to pick up some of my stuff and it was a pigsty. And they borrowed like half my clothes. I found them stuffed at the bottom of a dirty clothes hamper. And I checked; they ate almost all my food in the pantry."

"That's it. You need to move out," Stacy declared, walking across from the kitchen.

"I've told you. I can't afford another place," Monica whined, dramatically flopping onto the living room couch next to Bucky.

"No, you need to move here permanently. I've already talked it over with Steve. His assignments aren't getting any shorter any time soon. It's ridiculous to keep paying rent there. You live here," Stacy said as she walked over and sat in the easy chair.

"I don't know . . . .," Monica said.

"Look, I'll help you move. Stacy's right. It makes no sense to pay rent on a place you never sleep at," Bucky pointed out.

"But . . . . for how long?" Monica asked.

"Until you get sick of us.  **Mi casa es su casa** , right? " Stacy said.

"Tu casa," Monica gently corrected.

"Su casa, tu casa . . .Ugh . . . you know what I mean," Stacy said, a bit exasperated.

"Well, I should chip in, then. Pay my way," Monica reasoned.

"On the apartment that we got for free? Don't be ridiculous. You already cook like half the meals here. Now, come on. We'll drive over right now and clean out your stuff," Stacy said excitedly.

"Yeah. That'd be great," Monica said with a smile. "Thanks."

"No worries. We should have done this months ago," Stacy said as she got her purse and coat.

Bucky grabbed his leather jacket, his grin growing wider by the moment. Monica was moving in with them, permanently. He was surprised at how eager he felt. It just felt right to have her stay there.

00000

A week after Monica officially moved in, she was sitting at the kitchen table on a Saturday morning, putting a call though on Skype to her parents in Spain. Bucky knew that she tried to call them at least once a week, and that she was particularly close to her mother. He walked by her on his way to get another cup of coffee when she gestured to him, motioning for him to sit next to her and to talk into the webcam.

He shook his head, feeling uncomfortable, but she kept waving at him. He eventually shrugged and sat next to her, smiling at the image of Monica's mother. He was surprised at how young she looked. He could have easily mistaken her for Monica's older sister instead. She had the same dark hair and intense rich, brown eyes, the same generous lips and wide smile.

" **Te presento a mi amigo, Bucky** ," Monica said excitedly, placing a hand on Bucky's right shoulder.

"Hello," Bucky said, feeling awkward and covering it by giving a little wave.

"Hello," Monica's mother replied, her Spanish accent making the harsh H sound.

" **Me parece demasiado guapo para ser un amigo** ," her mother observed tartly, staring at her daughter.

"¡ **Mamá!** " Monica protested. " **Solamente somos amigos.** "

Her mother snorted dismissively. "¿ **Y vivís todos juntos**?"

" **Pues, sí. Tengo mi propia habitación**."

Her mother harumphed. " **Solamente amigos. Claro** ," she said sarcastically, shaking her head.

A few minutes later, when the call had ended, Bucky asked Monica, "So, what did your mom say?"

Monica blushed. "Um . . . . well, my parents are pretty traditional. They're not thrilled about the co-ed housing situation," she said.

"Oh . . . so she thought that we . . .," Bucky began, gesturing to the both of them.

Monica gave a short, forced laugh. "Yeah, it's silly, isn't it? I guess she doesn't think men and women can just be friends."

"Yeah, . . . silly. We're great friends," Bucky said.

"I know. That's what I said. Just friends."

"Pals," Bucky said.  _Although, I don't think I've ever had a pal quite like you_ , he thought, but kept his smile firmly in place.

"Buddies," Monica reiterated, nodding.

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Bucky turned on his phone one morning a few days later and saw a text from Steve.

_-Did you ever get your arm looked at?_

Bucky looked at his left arm, the fingers still curled in a tight fist. Both Monica and Stacy had noticed it, urging him to go in and have someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. take care of it. But, Bucky resisted. Having someone tinker with his arm reminded him of all the horrific "prep sessions" he had to go through before a mission as the Hydra tech teams through the decades would test or modify his metal arm. The idea of S.H.I.E.L.D. fiddling with it made him sick.

Bucky considered lying to Steve, telling him it was fixed, but he was fairly sure that Steve would just call Stacy and she'd confirm that his hand still didn't work.

_**-Not yet.** _

A moment later, Steve's reply came.

_-That's what I thought. Better get dressed. Tony wants to see you in his lab on the 91st floor in ten minutes._

Bucky groaned, hating the idea of leaving his warm bed, but he knew better than to put off the inevitable.

_**-Alright. I'm going.** _

_-Good. I've got good news. I should be back for Easter._

Bucky smiled. Only one more week to go.

000000

Bucky rode the elevator, his anxiety mounting as he passed each floor. The thought of meeting Howard's son was too much for him. He tried all the techniques the doc had suggested to calm himself down, taking deep breaths and focusing on his breathing. Before long, he arrived at the 91st floor and walked down a long carpeted hallway to a lone door. He hesitated for a moment and then forced himself to knock.

The door slid open and he saw Tony with his back to him in the large room full of half-made inventions. He was surrounded by industrial type robots and arguing with JARVIS.

"What if we altered the alloy's composition by ten percent?" Tony asked.

"Simulations indicate that there would be 89.7% chance that the suit would burn up on re-entry," JARVIS said in an almost bored tone.

"Um . . . . hello", Bucky said tentatively.

"Hey, Tin Man, how are you?" Tony asked, beaming when he turned around and saw Bucky.

Bucky scowled, but remembered Steve's warning about Tony's teasing and nicknames. "Uh . . . not so good," he said, lifting his left arm to show off his hand, still tightly closed. "I can't get it to open up."

"Well, come over here and sit down and let me have a look at it," Tony instructed, waving over to a seat near a workbench.

Bucky nodded and sat down, resting his metal arm on the workbench and letting Tony examine it.

"Wow. Would you look at that? You know, my old man would have done anything to get his hands on tech like that," Tony said appreciatively as he eyed Bucky's metal arm, taking out his soldering equipment.

Bucky tensed and unconsciously began to pull away a bit.

"You knew him, didn't you?" Tony asked, gently pushing back a panel at Bucky's left wrist.

Bucky nodded. "We wouldn't have been able to take down Hydra without him."

"Only you didn't get rid of all of it, did you?" Tony asked a bit sharply, looking up at him.

"I guess not," Bucky said softly, looking away.

"You know, my old man flew the plane that took Steve into enemy territory to rescue you," Tony pointed out, looking back down, probing the exposed metal tendons of Bucky's hand.

Bucky swallowed hard and forced himself to look Tony in the eye. "I remember. Steve told me afterwards. Your father was a hero."

"I guess so. He and my mom died when I was just a teenager. I wish . . . I would have liked to have known him better. We didn't always have the best of relationships," Tony said. He peered at the circuitry, checking Bucky's reflexes.

Bucky clenched his teeth together, acutely aware that he had been the one to rob Tony of all those years with his father and mother.

"You okay?" Tony said, looking up with concern on his face.

"Um . . . it's just getting worked on like this . . . with my arm. It reminds me of being in the Hydra laboratory. The things they did . . . . they didn't exactly believe in anesthesia," Bucky said, trying to change the subject.

"That had to have been rough," Tony said, his voice full of compassion. "After the Chitauri invasion, I went through a tough patch myself. Flashbacks, panic attacks, the whole nine yards. I really thought I was losing it for a while. If you ever need to talk to someone, just let me know."

"Thanks," Bucky said, not able to meet his eyes. It seemed that everyone he met was carrying a burden of the choices they had made or of the things that had happened to them.

A part of him longed to tell Tony the truth. The weight of the secret was grinding him down.  _But, what are you going to say? Sorry I made you an orphan? Sorry I destroyed your entire life? I didn't mean it? It wasn't me?_ The voice in his head taunted him, the nasty tone practically ringing in his ears.

"There you go. Test it out," Tony said after a few more minutes of tinkering.

Slowly, Bucky flexed every finger on his left hand and they responded perfectly. "Gee. Thanks," he said quickly, a genuine smile on his face, relief flooding his system. He hadn't realized how much having his hand malfunction had bothered him. He felt the tension melting away as he tested out his hand.

"Good as new. Better actually. I improved the response time by five milliseconds. I could do more. Put in a few upgrades. How do you feel about flying?" Tony said with a wide grin. "Repulsor technology is great."

Bucky shook his head. "Uh . . . no thanks."

Tony shrugged. "Oh well, it was worth a shot. Now, don't be a stranger. You are living in my Tower after all. Did you know I was the best man at Steve's wedding?"

Bucky nodded slowly. "He said you two were pretty close."

"We are. He's a great guy, even if I do give him a bad time now and then. But, just so you know, any friend of Steve's is a friend of mine," Tony said, sticking out his hand.

Bucky shook his hand, a wan smile on his face, the guilt clawing at him. "Same here."

"Good. Now, I've got to go, but the next time I'm in the city, I'll take you to the best Italian restaurant in town, Luigi's," Tony said, starting towards the door.

"Isn't that your restaurant?" Bucky asked, getting up from his chair and following him.

Tony put on his sunglasses, giving him a wide smile as the lab door closed behind them. "Like I said, best in town."

Bucky gave a him a forced smile. He saw a lot of Howard in Tony, the bravado, the over the top attitude, the insatiable curiosity.

And that killed Bucky a little bit inside.

00000

Bucky managed to back it back to the apartment and to the guest bathroom, before the revulsion and nausea overtook him and he fell to his knees, retching into the toilet. He was there a good fifteen minutes, glad that both women were already at work. Finally, when there was nothing left in his system, he got up on shaky feet and stripped, starting the shower up. He hopped in while the water was still cold, furiously scrubbing his skin as the memory of that night came back to him once again.

_His orders had been clear. The target was a well-known scientist whose inventions threatened Hydra's hold on the world. The target would be returning to a party late at night. The Winter Soldier was tasked to use his car to force the target off the road at a well-known curve that had a steep drop-off and was already the site of numerous car accidents. Hydra operatives inside S.H.I.E.L.D. would lead the "investigation" into the "accident" to insure that no one suspected foul play._

_Things were progressing smoothly. The Winter Soldier was tailing the car and had the target in sight. They would be approaching the critical area in a matter of minutes. However, he noticed that the target was not alone. He radioed in to his superior._

" _Be advised. Target has a female occupant in the car. Should I abort or continue the mission?"_

_After a few seconds, a reply came. "Continue as planned."_

_From there on out, everything went according to plan. The Winter Soldier forced the target's vehicle off the road and then parked a ways off, doubling back on foot, sliding down the steep embankment to check that the mission had been successfully completed._

_The red sports car was a mess of mangled steel halfway down the mountain. The Winter Soldier approached the vehicle on the driver's side to insure that the target had been neutralized. The target was slumped over, blood flowing from his head. The Winter Soldier checked his neck and pursed his lips when he felt a thready pulse. The target's eyes fluttered open. "Wh . . . Why?" he asked in a hoarse voice._

_The Winter Soldier didn't answer and quickly and efficiently leaned over and broke the target's neck, careful that the wounds would match the accident scene. When he was satisfied that the target was gone, he went to the passenger side. The female occupant was deceased and The Winter Soldier left the scene knowing that he had accomplished his mission. He had done his job well._

00000

Bucky spent the rest of the day in his room. He had no memory of leaving the shower or getting dressed again, but there he sat in a corner in his room, eyes squeezed shut trying to ride out the horror. Killing Howard and his wife was one of his worst memories, because he had known him before. Why did they choose him to carry out that particular assassination? Why couldn't he have broken out of the fog that they had put him in? Why didn't he recognize his old friend?

In the afternoon, a knock came on the door. "Bucky?" Monica asked through the door. "You okay? You didn't reply to any of my texts today."

Bucky had heard his phone go off a half dozen times, but he couldn't even move from his spot on the floor.

"Monica . . . I don't feel so good. I must have picked up some sort of bug at the senior center. I don't want to get you sick," he lied.

"Oh . . . do you need some medicine?" Monica asked. "I can get you some."

"No, I just need to sleep. I'll be better tomorrow," he said.

A few moments later, another knock came. "Hi, Bucky. It's Stacy. I'm coming in. You'd better be decent."

"No. Don't come in. I . . . I don't want you to get sick," he protested weakly.

"I'm coming in," she repeated firmly, opening the door and closing it quickly behind her.

She gave him a wide smile, walking towards him and sitting down cross-legged on the ground in front of him. "Bucky, we can't help you if you don't tell us the truth."

"I'm not feeling good," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"Of that, I have no doubt, but you're not sick."

He looked up at her, confused.

"Steve can't get sick. At least not easily. I bet you're the same," she said gently.

Bucky thought about it. He couldn't remember getting sick ever since Hydra got their hands on him. He guessed the serum had amped up his immune system in some way.

"Are you having some flashbacks?" she asked. "Nightmares?"

"Flashbacks . . . . really bad ones," he said. He hated feeling this way, like all his hard work had evaporated. Like he was back to square one. He would try to focus on the here and now, but then he could feel himself being dragged back into the past.

"Okay," Stacy said with a small smile. "We'll give you a little space. Did your therapist give you any tips on how to deal with these episodes?"

Bucky blinked, trying to focus. "Uh . . . trying to focus on sensation in the present. Like sound."

"Alright. Monica loaded your phone up with all of her favorite music. Why don't you listen to it up really loud with the earbuds in? Maybe that can help you break through, ground you."

Bucky smiled at her. "Yeah. Okay."

"I'll check in on you in a little bit. Are you up for eating dinner in a couple hours? Monica's making roasted chicken and potatoes."

Bucky's mouth began to water. It was one of his favorite meals. "Yeah. Thanks."

Stacy reached over and touched his right arm. "We're a family. We help each other out."

00000

Bucky felt like a heel during dinner, rudely shoveling the food in his face as quickly as possible. He was so hungry, he felt faint and he didn't even attempt to talk to the women as he devoured the food in front of him.

After dinner, Bucky retreated back to his room, sitting on his easy chair, listening to the music on his phone with the volume on full blast with his eyes closed. He didn't hear Monica knock on his door or call out to him. He didn't hear her walk across the room towards him.

When she touched his shoulder, instinct took over and he just reacted, lunging forward and grabbing her wrist. Luckily, his eyes flew open and he immediately let go, ripping out his earbuds. "Monica. I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said, taking a step back and rubbing her wrist a bit. "I'm fine."

"Sorry. I didn't know you were there."

"Are you feeling any better? Is the music helping?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Some."

"What are you listening to?"

"Um . . . I think the band is called Skillet," he replied.

"Oh, I love them. They played their song, 'Hero', when Steve was on stage for the Fourth of July benefit."

Bucky nodded.  _Of course they played "Hero". Suits Steve to a T_ , he thought.

Monica reached over and picked up Bucky's phone that was resting on his lap. "Oh, Bucky," she said, her voice full of compassion when she saw what he was listening to.

"What? I just like that song," he said defensively, snatching the phone back from her. He stood and walked over to his dresser, laying down the phone.

"You can't listen to 'Monster' on repeat for hours on end. Is that how you really feel? Like some sort of monster?" Monica asked, following him.

Bucky turned to face her. "Monica, I try to pretend that The Winter Soldier was someone else, some kind of horrific thing that just used my body. But the truth is, it was me. They may have brainwashed me, twisted me in knots, but it was me. My hands took people's lives. I shot them. I broke their necks. I plunged the knives into their hearts. It was me," he said, his voice breaking.

"Oh, Bucky," she said. "Please, don't do this to yourself. Don't let them win."

"Let them win?" he asked.

"They did this to you. But they don't have you anymore. You're free. And I know it doesn't feel that way. It probably won't for a long time. But you have to keep on fighting. Because you're worth it. You are so worth it, Bucky," she said. She closed the distance between him and hugged him tightly, her cheek on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck.

He hesitated for a few seconds and then folded his arms over her. He drank in the moment, focusing on her words, feeling hope starting to replace the despair.

* * *

**Author's Note-**

1. " **Monster" by Skillet** is a great song for Bucky's struggle with depression and I highly recommend it. I listened to it on repeat while writing this chapter.

2\. Rough Spanish Translation-

**My home is your home**

**Let me introduce my friend, Bucky.**

**He seems too handsome to be a friend.**

**Mom! We're only friends.**

**And you all live together?**

**Well, yes. I have my own room.**

**Only friends. Of course.**

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Ch. 18**

After the episode he had after meeting Tony, Bucky's nightmares came back in full force. The pills his therapist gave him seemed to have little effect. Every night was filled with repeated appearances of The Winter Soldier, either forcing Bucky to relive a past assassination or creating a new horror, some sick and sadistic dream filled with blood and terror.

Every morning, both women would fuss over him, seeing that he had clearly not slept the night before. Stacy urged him to sleep in, but the truth was, seeing the both of them in the morning, having breakfast together, was one of the only bright spots in his day and he wouldn't give that up for anything. So, he'd smile through breakfast, shooing them off to work while he did the dishes and then crash back to bed once they left, praying for a peaceful sleep.

When his Tuesday appointment came around, he begged the doc to give him more pills, but she refused, stating that he was already at the maximum dosage for the medicine she gave him every week. He gritted his teeth and nodded, suffering through an excruciating hour with her as he recounted the twisted memories that kept resurfacing, threatening to drag him under, making him feel like everything was unraveling.

"I just want to get better!" he shouted, jumping up from the chaise lounge, having one of his rare outbursts near the end of their session.

He looked at the doctor and saw her body go rigid, every muscle primed for action. He knew that there was a panic button on the floor nearby, something that would send a phalanx of armed soldiers into the room to try to subdue him. He felt ashamed that he had scared her. He was usually so very careful not to to seem aggressive around her, knowing how strong he was, never wanting to give S.H.I.E.L.D. an excuse to lock him up again.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," he muttered, sinking back down to sit on the chaise lounge, scratching the back of his neck.

She nodded, giving him a practiced, professional smile. "This is what getting better looks like," the therapist said reasonably. "Everyone thinks recovery is this straight line of steady improvement. It isn't. It's messy. It's frustrating. There are relapses. That's a normal part of the process. You are getting better, Sergeant Barnes. Don't you see that? You've been able to form bonds with people. That's something that you were incapable of when I first met with you. You seem to be creating a solid support system not only with your friend, Captain Rogers, but with his wife and her friend, Ms. Marín. You are reaching out to others, spending time with both Agent Wilson and Dr. Banner. You've begun volunteering at that retirement center, focusing your time and efforts on helping others. You are no longer solely focused on yourself and your past. All those things are excellent signs of progress."

"I . . . I know. I just hate that it's taking so long," he said.

"You were a P.O.W., Sergeant Barnes. You were tortured and brainwashed by Hydra for years, decades really. You can't expect that all to go away in a few months," she pointed out.

"Will it ever?" he asked in a small voice.

"Go away completely? No," she said, shaking her head. "All of our experiences mark us, mold us. But we can work to mitigate what they did to you. You know . . . I am proud of all the hard work you've done so far. You are improving. To tell you the truth, you are one of the most stubborn patients I've ever had and that quality will serve you well as you continue to improve," she said with a smile.

"Thanks, doc," Bucky said, not bothering to hide his own smile.

"Now, let's focus on the upcoming week. Captain Rogers will be returning from his assignment sometime soon, is that correct?" she asked.

"Yep," Bucky said, his grin widening. At least he had something to look forward to.

00000

Steve was due back the night before Easter. The Friday night before he was to return had been dreamless for Bucky, a welcome respite from the past week. Bucky was keyed up that Saturday, excited to be seeing his friend again. He paced around the apartment that whole morning, feeling a bit like a kid before Christmas. Monica noticed his impatience.

"Hey, do you want another haircut? You're looking a little shaggy," she pointed out.

Bucky's hand went to the back of his neck and his lip curled in disgust as he felt how long his hair had gotten. He supposed that he could have asked her to cut it weeks ago, but the truth was he felt a bit self-conscious about asking for the favor. He realized that he depended so much on both Stacy and Monica and he hated asking for more.

"Sure. That'd be great. Thanks," he said, giving her a smile.

"Grab a kitchen chair and a towel and I'll get the clippers from Stacy's bathroom."

"Oh, I don't want you to bother her," he said. Stacy was in her room, taking a nap. She had yet another nightmare the night before and she had tossed and turned the rest of the night. She had been bleary-eyed and grouchy during breakfast and quickly returned back to her bedroom to sleep some more. Bucky had recognized the signs of what she was going through and wished that there was something he could do to make her feel better.

"Don't worry. I'll sneak in," she said with a wink.

"Okay," Bucky said and busied himself with setting up the chair in the bathroom, facing the mirror and getting the towel wrapped around his neck.

"Mission accomplished. She didn't even wake up," Monica said, returning with the clippers. "Can I see your phone? I want to see one of your old photos to remind me of how your hair used to look."

"Alright," Bucky said, standing up to fish his phone out of his pocket and handing it to her before sitting back down.

She was standing behind him and leaned over, mere inches from him, scrolling through the pictures. "That one. That's a good one. Like that?" she asked, pointing to a photo he had taken the night before shipping out.

"Yeah, sure," he said, memories of that night swarming back to him. The World Exposition of Tomorrow. Seeing Howard Stark for the first time showing off the possibility of a flying car. Steve sneaking off to try to enlist yet again.

"She's pretty," Monica observed, pointing to the girl next to him in the photo. Bucky had his arm slung around the petite woman, a wide grin on his face.

"Yeah . . . her name was . . . . Connie. Steve and I had a double date with her and her friend the night before I got sent to England. Didn't work out so hot for Steve," Bucky said, shaking his head.

"And for you?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Bucky looked up at her reflection in the mirror. "Well, . . . I always did have a weakness for gorgeous brunettes," he said rakishly, waggling his eyebrows for comic effect, earning a soft laugh from her.

Monica combed his hair and started up the clippers. "Steve said that you were quite the ladies' man back in the day."

"Well . . . I don't know if I'd say that," he said dismissively. "Let's just say . . . I was social." Memories of happier times caused him to smile. That life felt like a million years ago. There was a time when there seemed to be an endless supply of women, sweet and affectionate, flattered by his attentions.

"And now?" she asked.

"And now what?" he replied, a bit confused.

"Well, you're hardly going to meet someone while you're cooped up in this apartment," she said, peering at the back of his head, using the comb to check that the sides were even.

"Yeah . . . . I don't think I'm the best dating prospect at the moment. 'Have you met my friend, Bucky? He's a great catch. He's an unemployed ex-assassin who has a slew of mental health issues and is monitored constantly by an intelligence agency', " he said in a sarcastic voice. "You're right, Monica. I'll have women throwing themselves at me."

Monica put down the clippers and moved to stand in front of him. "Is that really how you see yourself?"

"Tell me it isn't true," he ground out, clenching his jaw.

"Well, okay. You're right. But, that's not all you are. You're kind and brave and generous and you're always thinking of other people. Not to mention handsome and sweet and thoughtful. You  **are**  a great catch. Any woman would be lucky to snag you," she said firmly, staring him in the eyes.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably under her direct gaze. "Gee, Monica, I should hire you as my publicist."

Monica smiled, patting his shoulder as she returned to her spot behind him. "Don't worry. Once you're up to dating, I'll create the best online profile ever for you. You'll have women flocking to you. You'll have a chance to be 'social' again."

Bucky nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She was ruffling the top of his hair, deciding on the proper length and he couldn't concentrate with her being so close. The first time she had cut his hair, she was just a beautiful stranger and he reacted because he hadn't been alone with a women in decades. But now, she was Monica. She was a friend, a confidante.

However, he was still having a hard time breathing when she stood so close, when he felt her fingers caressing his neck, lightly brushing any stray hairs. He didn't want to breathe, closing his eyes, not wanting the moment to end.

"Good as new," she said, patting his shoulder. "You're going to look great for church tomorrow. I can't wait for you to see everyone again. You are coming to Easter service, right?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"Uh . . .," he began. The truth was, he hadn't been planning on going. He'd assumed he'd just wait at home for them to return. But, one look on her face cemented his decision. "Sure." Then, he thought for a moment. "I don't have a suit."

"Oh, don't worry. Most guys just wear khakis and a button-down shirt for Easter. A lot of people just wear jeans on a normal Sunday. It's a pretty casual church. Mostly young people," she assured him.

"Still, it wouldn't feel right," Bucky said. For Bucky, wearing your "Sunday best" had been a big deal growing up. He couldn't imagine showing up to an Easter service in casual clothes. It made him feel uncomfortable.

"Fine, we'll go clothes shopping. There's a mall nearby. You need some new clothes anyways for spring. Some short sleeve shirts. It'll be fun."

Bucky winced. Going clothes shopping definitely didn't enter into his notion of the word fun.

000000

Clothes shopping was exactly as awful as Bucky thought it would be. Acting as a human mannequin for Monica and trying on outfit after outfit was beyond tedious and boring. However, he did enjoy her enthusiasm and delight at each new clothing choice. He ended up buying several shirts and pairs of pants, including a suit to wear the next day.

He was proud of himself for going, forcing himself to get out of the apartment. They made it through the short subway ride without incident and Bucky had felt calm and relaxed during their journey. He decided it was a good "dry run" for the next day's church service.

Monica insisted that he wear one of his new outfits out of the store, a soft gray T-shirt over faded jeans, and asked for his phone once they were in the main part of the mall and walking towards the food court.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously, handing over his phone.

"I'm going to take a photo of you. You look so hot. You can always use it for your online profile . . . when you're up for it," Monica said mischievously.

"Monica . . . " he said with a pained expression, but dutifully smiled, his hands shoved in his jean pockets, as she snapped the picture.

As they looked at how the photo came out, a woman approached them. "Would you like me to take a photo of the both of you?" she asked with a friendly smile. She was pushing a double stroller holding a tiny infant and a young boy, both fast asleep.

"Thank you, ma'am. We'd appreciate it," Bucky said, handing over his phone and standing next to Monica.

"Okay, um . . . stand a bit closer together, arm around her . . . yeah . . . there you go. Hold on. I'll take a few of them," the woman instructed.

"Thanks," Monica said when they had finished.

"Oh, to be young and in love. I remember those days. You guys make such a cute couple," the woman observed, handing the phone back to Bucky.

"Oh, we're not a . . .," Monica began.

"Thank you, ma'am," Bucky interrupted. "We appreciate it. You have yourself a great day."

"You, too," the woman smiled and began pushing the stroller again.

Once the woman was out of earshot, Monica turned to Bucky. "I don't why she thought that."

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, but couldn't hide his smile. "I haven't the faintest idea, either." After a beat, he continued. "How about we grab a cup of joe? My treat. You deserve it after all your hard work."

"Sounds good," she said as they began to walk again, side by side. "The clothes weren't too expensive for you, were they? Inflation must have hit you hard. Steve complains about it all the time. And I do mean all the time," she said with a grin.

"Yes and no. Clothes actually aren't so bad. I mean, back in the 40s, clothes were kind of expensive and most people only had enough to get them through the week. Plus, with rationing, there just weren't as many options. The price of clothes is only about six or seven times what it used to be. It's coffee that's gone up a lot. Used a be a nickel. Now it's easily fifty times that," he groused.

"Oh. Well, you don't have to treat me. I could buy the coffee," Monica offered as they neared the coffee shop at the food court.

"No. No. Sorry. That was rude of me. Sorry. I'll get the coffees. I insist. Why don't you get us a table and I'll go up and order for us? What would you like?" The seating area near the coffee shop was crowded with only a few open tables left.

"Alright. A small cafe latte," she said.

"Anything to eat? I know I'm going to get something," Bucky said. He could feel his stomach growling and the display case full of pastries looked tempting.

"Uh . . . a blueberry scone?"

"Sounds good," he said as he turned to walk towards the cash register.

He waited a few minutes in line and ordered, leaving a huge tip in the clear jar at the cash register. The baristas were quick and efficient and before long, Bucky was balancing a tray of hot drinks and a bag of full of baked goodies as he turned and scanning the crowd for where Monica was. He spotted her at a small table at the edge of the food court. There was a handsome dark-haired man in his thirties standing next to where she was seated, smiling down at her and talking animatedly.

An unfamiliar wave of jealousy hit Bucky as he approached them. He felt off balance from his strong reaction to the man's presence. He strode over to them a bit quicker than was strictly necessary, a tight smile on his face.

"Hello," Bucky said gruffly as he sat the drinks and pastries down in front of Monica.

"Hey, Bucky. Thank you so much. I want you to meet Mr. Ramos. His daughter, Jessica, is in my class and she's an absolute treasure," Monica said brightly.

"You are too kind," Mr. Ramos said, holding out his hand for Bucky to shake.

The tension melted from Bucky's body. He shook the man's hand, a genuine smile on his face now. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Same here," Mr. Ramos said. "My daughter is so lucky to have Ms. Marín as a teacher. She loves school now. She talks about her all the time. She adores her."

Bucky looked at Monica who was beaming and blushing a bit. Knowing how kind and enthusiastic she was, he could easily imagine how much her students must like her class. "Well, I know how much Monica enjoys teaching."

"I should get going. I'll have to tell Jessica I saw you. You have a good day," Mr. Ramos said, nodding and smiling to the both of them before leaving.

"He seems nice," Bucky observed as he took the seat across from Monica.

"Yeah. I've been lucky. I've had really good parents this year. Unfortunately, . . . " and her face fell as her voice trailed off.

"What?" Bucky asked.

"We've had yet another family tell us that they're not coming back to the school in the fall. If we lose one more . . .," she gritted her teeth and shook her head.

"Hey, I'm sure it'll all work out in the end," Bucky said, his hand covering hers, giving it a brief squeeze before letting go and picking up his coffee cup.

"What? Is that optimism I hear? From you? We need to take you clothes shopping more often," she smirked.

Bucky shuddered as he took a sip of his black coffee. "No. Anything but that."

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Ch. 19**

Bucky and Monica returned by lunchtime to see Stacy up and smiling, evidently having gotten some sleep. She was wearing a pair of stained sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, her long hair up in a ponytail. She was buzzing around the apartment, singing a happy tune, cleaning with a speed and dedication that frankly surprised Bucky.

"Steve just called," she said breathlessly while wiping down the kitchen counters. "He'll be here by six. I want everything to be perfect before he comes home."

"We'll grab a quick lunch and help out," Monica offered.

"Yeah, sure," Bucky said with a smile, rolling up his sleeves.

Within an hour, the entire apartment was sparkling. There wasn't a speck of dirt or errant dustbunny anywhere to be seen and whole place smelled faintly of Lemon Pledge and disinfectant. Stacy beamed as she surveyed the place. "Thanks so much. I just . . . I just want everything to look nice for him."

Bucky bit his lower lip, worried about how anxious Stacy was about Steve coming home. Their separation was gnawing at her. Bucky could see the signs of stress and strain. He felt guilty that he was so consumed with his own problems that he didn't do more to ease her troubled mind.

"He's gonna love it. I know," he reassured her.

She gave him smile, but Bucky wanted to do more. "Actually, you and he should go out tonight. Monica and I are planning on going to see a movie."

"We are?" Monica asked.

Bucky gave her an intense stare and Monica caught on quickly. "Oh, yeah, we are," she said unconvincingly.

"Really?" Stacy asked suspiciously.

"Really," Bucky lied.

"Oh, that'd be perfect! We could go out to dinner together," Stacy said excitedly. "I need to go take a shower and change before he comes."

"A movie?" Monica asked with a cocked eyebrow as soon as Stacy went into her bedroom.

"Sorry. I just wanted them to have some time alone together. Is that okay?" Bucky asked.

"Fine, but you're paying," she said impishly.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

000000

Steve arrived home at six that evening to a round of hugs and kisses. He was pleasantly surprised that Monica and Bucky were planning on going out and he quickly showered and changed himself so that he could take Stacy out for a special "night on the town". Bucky was relieved to see Steve, not realizing how much he had missed his best friend, how worried he'd been for him while he was on assignment. A part of him still saw Steve as that small, sickly kid, constantly getting picked on and bullied.

Once Steve and Stacy left for their dinner out, Monica picked up her phone. "Let me see what's playing. What are you in the mood for?"

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. "I don't care. You pick."

"Um . . . last time, when there was a car chase . . ." she said delicately.

"You're right. Probably not an action flick, then," he said.

"Alright. Let me see . . . oh no," she said, disappointment tinging her words.

"What?"

"I got another text from one of my old roommates. I need to settle up some of the bills for the last month I was there. Look, Bucky, I'm going to have to take a raincheck on that movie. I should probably head over there and straighten this whole thing out. She's been sending me nasty texts all day."

Bucky nodded. Monica's old apartment wasn't exactly in the nicest area of town and he didn't feel right having her visit there at night alone. "I could go with you," he offered.

She hesitated and then nodded. "Yeah, I'd appreciate that. It'd be nice to have another person on my side. They always gang up on me."

"Not with me around," he said firmly.

000000

They grabbed a quick dinner and then headed over to Monica's old apartment, taking the subway. Looking at some of the rough characters who were eyeing Monica in the subway car, Bucky was more glad than ever that he offered to go along with her. They stood side by side, holding onto the same pole, and he glared at any guy who stared too long at Monica.

Once they arrived at their stop, they walked a few blocks to her old building. They went up the steps to the intercom and she pressed the button. "It's me, Monica."

The buzzer rang and Bucky pushed open the door for her, waving her in first. She walked up the steps to the second floor with Bucky trailing behind her, wrinkling his nose at the overpowering scent that reminded him of a backed-up sewer line in the stairwell. Monica knocked firmly on the door and gave Bucky a nervous smile.

The door opened and Chase stood there.

"Oh," Monica said, her eyes open wide. "I didn't . . . is Renee here? I texted her."

"Come in," Chase said, licking his lips slightly and boldly checking her out. He held the door open for her, his eyes raking over her as she passed by him and nearly closed the door in Bucky's face.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't see you there," Chase said flatly, giving Bucky a false smile and ushering him inside.

"Where's Renee?" Monica asked when they entered the apartment. Neither of her other roommates were there in the tiny studio apartment.

"She went down the street to pick up a pizza. She wanted me to stay here in case you came by," Chase explained.

"And Joann?" Monica asked, waving to the left side of the small studio. There was a lone unmade queen bed where there had once been a set of bunkbeds and a desk/bunkbed combo.

"Moved out right after you did. Renee couldn't swing the rent by herself, so I decided to help her out and split the rent with her."

"Well, aren't you a prince?" Monica said sarcastically.

"Hey, no hard feelings. You can always move back in if you want to," Chase said suggestively. "Three's company," he leered at her.

Monica rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the offer. I have a great place to stay now."

"She does," Bucky said, his hands twitching slightly with the desire to wipe that smug grin off of Chase's face.

"Oh, so you two?" Chase asked, pointing at the both of them. Then, his eyes widened. "Don't I know you?" he asked Bucky.

"Yes," Bucky said, nearly growling, as his hands clenched into fists.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me! Monica, how low have you fallen that you're dating a homeless guy?" Chase mocked. "Seriously, babe, move back in with us. At least you won't get lice."

"One, Bucky and I are just friends. Two, if this were the last apartment on Earth, I wouldn't move back here. Three, if you ever call me 'babe' again, it'll be the last word you ever say. Just give me the bills and I'll write a check to Renee so that we can go," Monica said curtly.

Bucky took a step forward, fully intending to make Chase regret every single word he had said, when Monica caught his arm. "Don't. He's not worth it," she pled.

Bucky gritted his teeth and gave her a short nod. She took her checkbook out of her purse, snatching the small pile of bills on the small folding table. In a minute, she dashed off a check and left it on the table. "There's the check," she said, stuffing her checkbook back in her purse.

"Hey, don't be angry. I was just playing around," Chase said as she turned to leave.

"I hope you two are very happy together. You really deserve each other," she said as she swept out of the apartment.

She made it to the street before she began to break down and cry. Bucky put his arms around her and held her for a long while. Finally she pulled back a bit, sniffing. "I can't believe I wasted months of my life pining over that guy. He's such a jerk. Sometimes, I have the worst taste in men."

"Are you sure you don't want me to go back there and straighten him out?" Bucky offered.

"Is it horrible that a part of me wants to say yes? But no, he's stuck with Renee. She's a piece of work. I'm sure that they're going to make each other miserable," she said with a rueful smile. "Thanks for coming with me. I would have hated to be stuck alone with him."

Bucky's stomach turned at the thought of Monica alone with that lech. "We're not going to run into him tomorrow, are we?" The last thing he wanted to do was pummel a man at Easter service. Bucky was sure that the next time he saw the creep he wouldn't be able to restrain himself.

"Oh, no. I haven't seen him at church in months. Don't worry," she assured him.

"Hey, want to go back home? Maybe pop some popcorn and rent a movie?" he suggested.

Monica brightened. "Oh, that sounds so good."

000000

"Well, don't you look dapper?" Monica observed as Bucky walked out of his room the next morning after breakfast, wearing the light gray three piece suit they had bought the day before. "You're going to be more dressed up than the pastor," she said with a grin.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders and straightened his black tie. He wasn't about to wear casual clothes to Easter service.

"You don't look too shabby yourself," he pointed out as Monica spun around to let him have a look at her vibrant turquoise dress. It had a fitted, scoop-necked bodice with cap sleeves and a full, pleated skirt that hit her right above the knee.

"You like?" she asked.

"I like," he agreed.

Before long, Stacy and Steve came out of their room, dressed and ready to go. Steve wore a dark suit and gave Bucky a little nod, approving of his wardrobe choice. Stacy was wearing a mint green sheath dress and strappy heels, although she was still several inches shorter than Steve.

"We should get going. It's almost 10:15 and the 11 o'clock service is going to be packed. Parking on Easter Sunday is always a bit of a mess. And I need to get there early to greet," Stacy said hastily as she put in an earring.

"You're not in the nursery?" Bucky asked Monica as they all headed for the door. She usually left early to help out with the babies during the 9 o'clock service.

"No, I switched with a friend. Didn't want to have a baby spit up all over my new dress," she said with a wink as they entered the elevator.

"Smart thinking," he said as his eyes travelled her form in her new outfit, appreciating the view.

000000

Growing up, Bucky was used to small churches, wooden pews, and quiet reverence. Visiting the church that Monica and Stacy attended was a bit of a culture shock. Stacy positioned herself at the door when they arrived and began shaking hands or hugging every single person who entered. Bucky followed Monica and Steve inside, blinking a bit at the large industrial space. There were hundreds of folding chairs lined up in rows, all facing a large main stage. For a moment, Bucky felt more like he was attending a rock concert than Easter service.

"Oh, look. There they are!" Monica said, pointed to a small group of people seated on the right side near the front. Steve and Bucky followed her and before long Bucky recognized them as Stacy's friends from her birthday.

"Hey, it's good to see you," Monica said, giving the woman a fierce hug. "Bucky, you remember Erica and her husband, Michael?"

"Of course," Bucky lied smoothly, having completely forgotten their names. He stuck out his hand and shook theirs, a large smile on his face.

"And Josh, how are you?" Monica asked, giving her friend a quick hug.

Bucky grimaced at that, wondering why the shorter man seemed to annoy him so much. He reasoned that he remembered that Josh and Steve had a falling out, but he knew that it was more than that.

"Hi, Bucky," Josh said, sticking out his hand to shake. "It's good to see you again. Happy Easter."

"Happy Easter," Bucky said, forcing himself to smile as he shook Josh's hand.

"Monica, are you all coming out to lunch afterwards?" Josh asked.

"I guess so. Yeah, sure," Monica said with a smile.

"Lunch?" Bucky asked. He had assumed that they'd all go back to the apartment to eat.

"Post-service ritual. Although, I guess we should go somewhere a little fancier than the sub shop for Easter," Monica said.

"Oh, let's go to Luigi's," Steve suggested. "My treat."

"Your treat?" Erica asked.

"Yeah. I've missed you guys. It'll give us all a chance to catch up," Steve said.

"Thanks, man," Michael said.

Bucky smiled wanly. Yet another awkward social gathering. He felt like such an outsider in the group.

Monica put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "We should probably grab a seat. The band looks like they're about to start."

They all shuffled around in the row, claiming their seats. Bucky ended up between Monica and Steve with Steve saving an end seat for Stacy for when she finished greeting.

"Happy Easter," the lead singer said loudly as he came up to mike stand in the center stage. "It's great to see so many people this morning. If this is your first time here, welcome. We hope it won't be your last," he said warmly before nodding to his band behind him and counting in the first song.

Bucky followed the example of his friends around him and stood during the songs. The first two songs were vaguely familiar to Bucky and he realized that Monica had downloaded them to his phone. She sang along next to him and he was impressed at how good she was. He mumbled his way through, following along with the words that were displayed on two large screens on either side of the stage. Bucky was surprised that Steve seemed to know every word, singing loud and clear next to him.

When the third song began, Bucky's head reared back as he recognized the lyrics for "Come Thou Fount Of Every Blessing". The traditional hymn sounded out of place at first when played by such a modern band, but after a moment, Bucky closed his eyes and sang the hymn he had memorized as a child. When he sang the line "streams of mercy, never ceasing," he began shake slightly. He had lived without mercy for so long, under the harsh control of Hydra. Mercy, grace, love . . . they had no use for those concepts. There was only pain. There was only the completion of each mission, the elimination of each new target.

"You okay?" Monica asked, whispering in his ear, her hand on his shoulder.

Bucky nodded, feeling foolish for breaking down from a simple lyric. But the truth was, the hymn also reminded of his childhood, of his innocence, of a time before, when thing seemed simple. When he was surrounded by friends and family. When life seemed full of possibilities.

Life didn't seem that way anymore.

Monica's hand rested lightly on his back as she leaned over to whisper in his ear. "It's alright. I always sob during worship time. I'm a big softie."

Bucky looked over at her as she wiped away a tear on her cheek and smiled at her, giving her a wink. He turned his gaze to the stage as the pastor strode to a music stand acting as a makeshift podium, setting his notes down and smiling to the crowd as they all sat down. As Monica had predicted, the middle-aged man was wearing khakis and a light blue button down shirt.

"Good morning. How's everyone doing? Are you all enjoying the warmer weather?"

There was a chorus of yeses from the congregation. The pastor chuckled. "I see I'm not the only one. There's only some much snow you can reasonably deal with. We all begin to miss the sun, the warmth on our faces. One reason that we love spring so much is that it is a season of renewal. It marks the end of winter, a dead and barren time. Spring points towards new life and new possibilities. Easter gives us hope. Hope that the broken will be made whole. Hope that old things are washed away. Hope that sacrificial love makes us who we were meant to be."

"We all fall short. Some of us in small ways. Some of us in big ways. And we feel it. We know when we say things we shouldn't, hurt people we shouldn't. We feel that gulf between who we are and who we were meant to be. Who God intended us to be."

"And that's what Easter gives us. A way to bridge that gulf. A way to reconcile with God and one another. A way to stop beating ourselves up for falling short."

"Winter no longer has any claim over you. Your past has no hold over you. Christ's sacrifice has made you free. Are you living in that freedom? Or are you letting the chains of who you used to be pull you down? Drag you under?"

"You are loved."

"You are extravagantly loved."

"You are abundantly loved."

"You are set free."

"You are forgiven."

"You have been redeemed."

"Live your life basking in the sun. Spring has come. The darkness, winter, cannot control you anymore. Now go out and live, secure in the knowledge that you are made new."

_Winter no longer has any claim over you. Spring has come._ For some reason those words kept echoing in Bucky's mind.  _Winter no longer has any claim over you. Spring has come._  A smile tugged at Bucky's lips and he wasn't even aware of it. For the first time in a long, long time, his mind was consumed not with thoughts of his failures, of his crimes, but at the possibility that freedom was just around the corner.

He had experienced moments of hope before, but this was different. It felt different.

He felt like there was a real possibility of being free.

_Winter no longer has any claim over you. Spring has come._

* * *

**Author's Note** \- Thank you for your lovely comments! Seriously, you are all so wonderful!

Also, "Come Thou Fount Of Every Blessing" was written in 1758 and is in the public domain. It's also a beautiful song and you can even hear Mumford and Sons do a version of it on Youtube!

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Ch. 20**

Bucky was quiet on the ride to the restaurant after church, his mind focused on the message he heard. He was surprised at how good it felt to be out of the apartment and he looked out of the car window, a slight smile playing on his lips. While it was still cool out, probably in the low 50s, it was still one of the warmest days since he had come back to New York. The snow was gone and blue sky only held a few fluffy clouds, no sign of rain in sight. It really did feel like the beginning of spring.

They arrived in about twenty minutes and Luigi's turned out to be a much busier restaurant than Bucky had imagined. They were open for Easter brunch and the waiting area was crammed full of people, some of them spilling out onto the sidewalk, chatting in small groups or staring in rapt attention to their phones.

Once inside, Steve went up to the front and asked to talk to the manager. Moments later, their entire group was ushered to a private back room while the lobby full of waiting customers glared at them. Steve flashed them an apologetic smile as he passed them by.

A contingent of busboys were busily setting up a table to accommodate the group of seven in the large private room. White linen tablecloths and burgundy napkins, all artfully arranged, soon covered the table. The place settings were more elaborate than anything that he had seen before and it took Bucky a moment to remember the differences between the various forks nestled side by side. Waiters handed each person in their group a leather-bound menu written in swirling script with overwrought descriptions of each dish.

"What? Is the manager a fan? Is that how we bypassed the wait?" Bucky asked good-naturedly as he took a seat next to Steve. He followed Steve's lead with Stacy and he made sure to pull out a seat for Monica on his other side, earning him a quick grin of thanks from her.

"No. That's not it. I texted him before the service started. I had his number since we had our wedding reception here. And . . . um . . . since Tony owns the restaurant . . ." Steve began.

"Oh, yeah," Bucky said quietly. "I forgot." He busied himself at looking at the specially printed menu for the holiday, wincing at the prices. He quickly tallied how much it would cost for Steve to cover the seven of them plus tip and he blanched. It was more than six months wages back in the forties.

"Hey," Bucky leaned over to whisper to Steve. "I can split the bill with you."

Steve shook his head. "Naw. I got it covered," Steve assured him.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright," Bucky said, shrugging his shoulders.

"So, how're things going at the shelter?" Monica asked Josh, who was seated across from them.

Josh gave her a wan smile. "Alright. I mean, it's a rough time of year. People are really generous around Thanksgiving and Christmas and then the donations start drying up," Josh said, wrinkling his nose.

"Shelter?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, I volunteer Thursday evenings at a homeless shelter. Things were tough for me and my family when I was younger, so I try to give back, now that I can," Josh said modestly.

Bucky's eyes narrowed at Josh, reevaluating him. He felt guilty over his previous brusque treatment of him. The more he looked at Josh, the more he reminded Bucky of a young Steve. "That's great."

Josh shrugged, "Um, Monica mentioned that um . . . that you hit a rough patch, a while back."

Bucky pressed his lips together, his months living on the streets an unwelcome memory, one that he had tried to forget. "Yeah. I was homeless for about six months."

"Then, maybe you can help me," Josh suggested excitedly.

"How so?"

"Well, I was able to finally convince my boss to make a donation to the shelter. We're trying to find some practical things we can buy. Do you have any suggestions?"

Bucky thought for a moment. "Well, right off the top of my head . . . warm socks. I know it seems trivial, but I would have done anything for a good pair of socks some nights."

"Wow. I wouldn't have thought of that. Thanks," Josh said.

The waiter came by to take their drink orders. Bucky asked for a black coffee with plenty of sugar. Once the waiter had finished with the table, both Michael and Erica stood up together, his arm around her shoulder.

"So, speaking of renewal and new life, we have an announcement to make," Michael said.

"Oh, my," Stacy said, clapping her hands together.

"We're going to have a baby," Erica said excitedly.

"Yes! When are you due?" Monica asked.

"The first week of October," Erica said. "We can't wait."

"Is it a boy or girl?" Josh asked.

"Um . . . we don't know yet. We should find out at the end of this month," Erica explained.

"Well, congratulations!" Steve said heartily. "That's great news!"

"Yeah, congratulations," Bucky said, smiling at the beaming couple. He didn't really know them, but they seemed like a sweet, loving couple and he was happy for them.

"Good for you, starting a family. That's great," Steve said, nodding his head, his lips pressed together in a smile.

But, Bucky saw Steve's eyes slide over to Stacy. He heard Steve's low sigh. He knew that Steve's happiness for his friends was tempered by sadness.

Bucky bit the inside of his lower lip. If Steve hadn't wasted months tracking him down, if he hadn't have invited Bucky into his home, he might be a father right now. Steve was putting his life on hold because of him. And the guilt of it weighed on Bucky.

"Oh, that's wonderful news," Stacy added, a genuine smile on her face. "And you already have a built-in group of babysitters."

"We're counting on it," Michael said.

"Babysitters?" Bucky asked, a bit confused.

"Didn't Steve tell you? One of his first dates with Stacy was a babysitting gig with all of us," Erica said.

"It wasn't really a date," Stacy explained, looking down and laying her napkin on her lap. "We were just starting to become friends at that point."

"Although he did kick in extra for hot wings," Josh added.

"If I remember the story correctly, Steve jumped at a chance to babysit if it meant being with Stacy," Monica teased lightly.

Steve blushed. "Do you blame me?"

"You babysitting?" Bucky said and began to laugh.

"Like I said, can you blame me? A beautiful woman asks you to babysit, I bet you'd say yes," Steve countered, nudging with his shoulder.

Bucky's eyes flicked to Monica. "I can see your point."

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Both women were overjoyed about Erica and Michael's announcement and talked of nothing else the entire ride back to the apartment. Bucky was silent. He didn't really know anything about babies or starting a family, but he was glad that both Stacy and Monica were so excited for their friends. He noticed that Steve was quiet during the ride also, only speaking when Stacy asked him a direct question.

They all rode up the elevator together and then went to their own rooms to change out of their church clothes. Bucky carefully hung up his suit, glad that he had decided to go with them. He imagined just sitting alone in the apartment all morning and shuddered slightly.

Bucky changed into some jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and went to the living room, smiling at Steve when he saw him sitting on the easy chair, thumbing through a newspaper.

"That's great news. About your friends," Bucky said.

Steve nodded, putting down the paper. "Yeah, Michael is going to make a great father."

"You will, too," Bucky assured him.

"Oh . . . yeah, sure. I mean . . . later on. We haven't even been married a year," Steve said. But Bucky could smell the lie in what Steve was saying. He wanted to push, but he didn't know what to say.

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Eventually, Stacy and Monica joined them once they had gotten changed. "Um . . . I was thinking that Monica and I might go shopping. We wanted to get something for Erica and Michael to celebrate their announcement. And it'll give you guys a chance to catch up," Stacy said.

"You sure?" Steve asked.

"Unless you'd like to spend the next several hours shopping," Stacy teased, walking over to him, bending down and placing a sweet kiss on Steve's cheek.

Steve shuddered and shook his head, while placing an arm around her waist as she stood by his seat. "No . . . not at all."

"Is anything even open? It's Easter Sunday," Bucky asked.

"We're inventive. We'll find a place," Monica assured him.

"We'll be back for dinner. We're having ham, scalloped potatoes, and fresh green beans," Stacy said.

"Oh . . . I think I may have fallen in love with you all over again," Steve said.

"See, I knew you only loved me for my cooking," Stacy said, sticking out her tongue at him.

"Oh, I fell in love with a lot more than that," Steve nearly growled and lightening quick, he pulled her onto his lap and gave her a kiss so passionate that Bucky and Monica both looked away in embarrassment.

"Okay . . . . we get it. You're in love. Let's go shopping, Stacy," Monica whined.

Steve and Stacy ended their kiss and Stacy scrambled to stand up, blushing furiously. "To be continued," she told Steve with a coquettish wink.

"You better believe it," he shot back as she and Monica walked out the door. He looked over at Bucky. "Well, looks like we've got the place to ourselves."

"Alright."

"Um . . . I, well actually Stacy and I, got you something," Steve said. He got up from the chair and went back to his room, emerging with a large rectangular white garment box tied with a red bow.

"Uh . . . Stacy bought it," Steve said as he handed it over to Bucky.

Bucky untied the bow and opened the box, squinting a bit at the black leather inside. He lifted up the garment. "A jacket?" he asked. It vaguely reminded him of part of his Winter Soldier outfit.

"A motorcycle jacket. And these," Steve said, giving him a set of keys.

"You're letting me borrow your motorcycle?" he asked.

"No. I'm giving it to you. The subway's fine, but it's nice to have your own ride."

"No . . . I can't," Bucky said, holding out the keys for Steve.

Steve shook his head. "It's not like I use it anymore. And, I'm spending all my time on assignment nowadays. The weather's finally nice enough to actually ride it. It'd be a shame to have it just rust away in the garage."

"Well, thanks, Steve."

"And there are two helmets. In case you ever need to give someone a ride," Steve added.

Bucky shrugged. "Don't think I'll have to worry about that."

Steve gave him a smile. "You never know. I didn't even own a helmet until Stacy gave me a hard time about it."

"That sounds like her," Bucky said and he placed the leather jacket carefully on the couch, slipping the keys into the front pocket of his jeans before sitting down. "You want to watch some T.V.? I recorded the last game for you."

"Yay, that'd be great. You know, there's a game on Tuesday night, you want to go?" Steve asked, taking a seat back in the easy chair.

Bucky nodded. He avoided using their season tickets while Steve was gone. He felt bad having them going to waste, but he couldn't face the idea of going without Steve and dealing with a bunch of people in yet another uncomfortable social situation. Watching baseball with Steve had been one of the highlights of their friendship growing up and he couldn't imagine going without him.

"Good. We should take advantage of the tickets while I'm still in town," Steve said.

"Hey, so do you think that you'll be able to stay for a while now?" Bucky asked tentatively.

Steve sighed. "I'd like to lie . . . but I'm going to be out again on assignment in a week or so. And this time I'll probably be gone through May, maybe part of June, too."

"That long?" Bucky asked, the defeat in his voice.

"Yeah. Look, I'm sorry. I just can't offload all of this onto someone else. It's my fault that S.H.I.E.L.D. is in the state it's in. To be honest, we're struggling, barely making a dent against the remaining Hydra resistance. We just need more agents. We are so out-numbered. But, I don't like being gone, either. I wish somehow . . . I guess I miss the old days," Steve said with a sad smile.

Bucky nodded, knowing what he meant. Back when they both fought, side by side, to take down Hydra together. Only now, Bucky couldn't imagine being about to go on a mission without ending up a basket-case. He'd be more a liability than a help.

Steve gave him a hopeful grin. "Good thing is, Tony told me he'd start helping out with the missions. Which is good, it means hopefully I won't be on as many long assignments. I'm glad he changed his mind."

"Changed his mind?"

"Oh, I think he was sore at me for a while," Steve said offhandedly.

"Sore at you? Why?"

Steve blew out a long breath, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, look at it from his perspective. He and I become good friends. He gives us this apartment. He's the best man at my wedding. And then, I don't call him when things get bad in D.C. I take off trying to find you for six months. I come back with you and I avoid him."

Bucky shook his head. "So, he's what? Jealous?"

"No, more like hurt. Look, he and Rhodey are thick as thieves back in California. It's not like he begrudges the fact that I'm helping you out or that you're staying with us. But, he's only seen me a handful of times in the last four months."

Realization dawned on Bucky. "And you're avoiding him because of what I did to his parents?"

Steve gave him a sheepish look. "You know me, Bucky. I'm a lousy liar."

"You could just . . . you could just tell him . . . about what I did," Bucky offered. His stomach twisted in knots at the thought of Tony knowing what he had done.

Steve shook his head. "I . . . I don't know how he'd react. I know it wasn't you. I know it was all on Hydra. But Tony . . ."

"You think he'd blame me."

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "I . . .I don't know. I don't want to risk it. Tony . . . he's not the most rational or logical person I've ever met."

"I could see that. His father was the same way," Bucky said wryly.

"So, I've been meaning to ask you; how'd you like the service?" Steve said, obviously trying to change the subject. "It's a little different that what we were used to growing up."

"It was good. I told Monica I'd go with them from now on," Bucky said. Then, he took a deep breath, staring at Steve. "Do you really believe any of that stuff anymore? After all that's happened?"

Steve gave him a broad smile. "I do, with my whole heart."

"All that stuff about redemption for even people who are really broken, people who've done awful things?" Bucky thought about the possibility of turning back the clock, of somehow becoming the man he was before. It seemed like an impossible dream at times.

Steve paused and looked at Bucky, clearly knowing why he asked that question. "Yes."

"No matter . . . no matter what they've done?" Bucky asked, rubbing his hands together, the anxiety coming off of him in waves.

"Yes", Steve repeated firmly, his jaw set.

"But . . .," Bucky's voice faltered, "what if what they've done is unforgivable?" He took a shaky breath. "What if what  **I've**  done is unforgivable?"

"It isn't . . . Bucky, it's not like you had a choice."

Bucky held up a hand to silence his friend. "But, I still did it. What good does it do to want forgiveness . . . to ask for forgiveness when what you've done is so horrible? Sometimes, I wake up and the blood is still on my hands. It's still there. I can see it. I can feel it. I can even smell it. And I wash and I wash and I'll never be clean," Bucky confessed, closing his eyes.

Steve put a hand on Bucky's shoulder, giving it a squeeze."You know that isn't true. Don't take this on yourself."

"Sometimes, I wonder . . . I wasn't the only person they tried to formula on. The rest of them . . . the other test subjects . . . didn't make it. You know, I wonder why it worked on me and not on them. Why didn't I die, Steve? Then, the Winter Soldier never would have existed. Howard would have still been alive. Tony would have grown up knowing his father."

"Bucky, you can't think that way," Steve said sharply.

"But, I do. A lot," Bucky admitted.

"Hydra just would have sent someone else. It's not your fault, Bucky. You were just the weapon they used."

Bucky nodded. "You're right. I was their weapon. You know, sometimes I think that maybe Hydra chose me to be their assassin because it was already a part of me. The darkness. Lurking inside. Waiting to be let out. Waiting to be freed. Biding its time before it destroyed everything around me. Maybe The Winter Soldier is just who I really am, let loose on the world. It's not like the first time I killed was for them. I was a sniper long before they got ahold of me," Bucky said, his voice filled with shame as he looked down.

"Look, Bucky, we've both had to fight to protect people. We both have blood on our hands. I've probably killed as many people as you have. But, is that how you see me? As a killer?"

"No!" Bucky practically shouted as his head reared up. "No, not at all!"

"Then, don't paint yourself with the same brush. We did what we had to do to save people. Fighting Hydra saved millions of lives. That's why I'm still in S.H.I.E.L.D. Trying to look out for the little guy. Because I remember what it was like being one. Being pushed around. Bullied. And you were always there to look out for me. You were always there to protect me. Stop selling yourself short, Bucky. Stop beating yourself up for things that aren't your fault," Steve said.

Bucky sighed. "I wish it were that easy."

"I know it isn't easy. But you can do it," Steve said.

"Are you going to tell me that you have faith in me again?" Bucky asked wryly. He hated to admit it, but Steve's faith in him was one of the reasons he kept fighting to get better.

Steve grinned. "I'll do it until you start believing me."

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Ch. 21**

After Easter, Bucky seemed to really turn the corner. He enjoyed his week with Steve before he left to go back out on assignment. They both yelled their heads off at the baseball game, much to the chagrin of their friends seated with them. Bucky was surprised at how at ease he felt around Bruce, Sam, Michael, and Josh. He even offered to start volunteering at Josh's homeless shelter on Thursday evenings.

Once Steve left the following week, Bucky's life fell into a predictable pattern. He began to attend every baseball game he could with Josh, Michael, and Bruce. They spent hours arguing about the calls the umpires made, eating as many hot dogs as they could, shaking their heads when their favorite player struck out. Sam left on assignment with Steve, but Bucky still made an effort to keep in touch, texting him every few days.

Bucky's weekly routine started to fill up with more and more activities. Mondays, he still had lunch with Bruce, sometimes even venturing to a nearby cafe or diner. He grew to look forward to speaking with the gentle scientist, who was so different from his alter ego. He gave Bucky hope that he could one day come to peace with his actions as the Winter Soldier. If Bruce could somehow come to terms for all of the destruction done by the Hulk, then Bucky might be able to slowly let go of the guilt that gnawed away at him.

Tuesdays, he had his therapy appointment at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base and his doctor kept praising him on his continual improvement. He was already on his third journal, filling up the pages whenever he felt down or when he needed an outlet. He was surprised at how easy it became to talk to his therapist as the months went by, his initial mistrust and wariness slowly thawing. She had spoken to him about the possibility of reducing the dosage of his medication, but he balked, craving the dreamless sleep more than almost anything else in the world.

Wednesday mornings, he went to his group therapy meetings, opening up more and more as the weeks went by. He had met a couple of veterans there who he got along pretty well with and they started going to coffee afterwards. One guy was shaky after a particularly nasty divorce and the other just had a baby with wife, his eyes always bleary from a lack of sleep. Talking to them made Bucky realize the stress of what they were going through put an enormous strain on their relationships and made him glad he had steered clear of Monica's relentless suggestions that he try online dating. The last thing he needed to deal with was a girlfriend trying to talk him down during a flashback.

Wednesday afternoons, he went to the senior center with Monica and Stacy. He did everything everything he could think of to brighten Mr. Johnson's day. He brought in treats, music, novels, anything that the older man mentioned missing from when he lived with his wife. Whenever he brought something in for him, Mr. Johnson would squeeze his right arm, sniffing back the tears of gratitude, reminding Bucky of his own grandfather.

Thursday evenings, he met Josh at the homeless shelter. He offered help and advice to the managers who ran the shelter based on his experience living on the streets. He served dinner to the people there and he got to know many of the regulars. He would just sit and listen to them and their stories, offering no judgment, just a friendly face and a sympathetic ear. He quietly donated to the shelter, meeting need after need, trying to stay as anonymous as possible. He grew to really like Josh, realizing that any misgivings he had about the younger man were completely unfounded.

Sunday mornings, he attended church with Monica and Stacy, even helping from time to time with the set-up crew. He ate lunch out with the women and their friends after the service at a nearby sub shop. He got to know Erica and Michael better as the weeks went on, sharing in their joy when they found out that they were having a little boy.

When he had free time, he did his best to help Monica and Stacy out. He rode his motorcycle around the city, running errands, getting groceries. He even started making a few basic dinners to make things easier when they came home from work.

He had to admit that Steve was right about the motorcycle. Having the freedom to go wherever he wanted was heady. Sometimes, he'd get on the bike and just ride with no particular place to go, just wanting to feel the exhilarating rush of being outside with no destination in mind. While he still got tense in some social situations, leaving the apartment no longer bothered him. He lived for the moments when he'd take off and be gone for hours at a time.

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However, things weren't always easy for Bucky. One late Friday morning in early May, there was a rapid knock on the apartment door. He opened it and then cringed when he saw who was there.

"Hi, Bruce," Bucky said, giving his friend a warm smile. He took a deep breath. "Hi, Tony."

"JARVIS said you were in," Tony said, sweeping past him and surveying the apartment. "Nice. I like what Stacy's done with the place. You know, this is the first time I've seen it since they moved in."

Bucky tensed, knowing that he was the reason that Tony hadn't been invited over. Both Steve and Stacy knew that Bucky couldn't handle being around Tony, that it stirred up too many horrible memories. "Yeah, the place is great."

"You hungry? What am I saying? You and Steve are always hungry. I don't know how you guys can afford to feed yourselves. C'mon on. We're going to Luigi's for lunch. My treat," Tony said good-naturedly.

Bruce gave Bucky a wan smile. He knew that Bucky avoided Tony, although he had no idea why.

Bucky swallowed thickly. He couldn't think of a good excuse to say no. He was aware that he owed Tony a debt for fixing his arm and he wanted to make sure that he at least attempted to remain on good terms with him. "Yeah. Sure."

"Limo's waiting downstairs. Ever ridden in a limo before?" Tony asked.

Bucky shook his head, although it wasn't entirely true. Once, on assignment as the Winter Soldier, he had waited in the back of a limo to slit a target's throat, but he supposed it really didn't count.

"Well, you're in for a treat," Tony promised.

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The "treat" with Tony started Bucky on yet another setback. While not as severe as the first time he saw Tony, he was still plagued with nightmares and horrific flashbacks after having lunch with Tony and Bruce. He didn't leave the apartment at all for a week, save his appointment with the doc. And he would have ditched out on that if it weren't for the fact that he needed the pills so very badly. The second week, he stabilized, forcing himself to get out more and more each day. Both Monica and Stacy stood by his side, helping him in any way they could. Bucky shuddered to think what would have happened if he had been living alone by himself. Both women did their level best to support him and bring him out of it.

By late May, things had gotten back to normal. Bucky was proud of himself for pulling out of his breakdown and grateful for Stacy and Monica standing by him. Unfortunately, the fact that seeing Tony set him off so badly meant that Bucky would have to do his best to avoid him from then on.

Right before Memorial Day, Stacy came up to him one Saturday morning at breakfast, a sheepish grin on her face. "Bucky . . . um how do you feel about kids?"

"They're alright, I guess," he shrugged. He wondered if she was going to try to rope him into helping out in the church nursery. Monica had been after him for weeks to help her out on Sunday mornings, but he kept putting her off, citing his complete lack of experience with infants. It was one of the few times he refused to help her, but the thought of being stuck in a room of crying babies made him nervous.

She let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Because I talked to my sister, Amanda, and she and her husband are kind of struggling right now. It's really bad. They're overwhelmed, not getting any sleep. They've got three kids and they really, really need a break. The youngest is almost a year and a half, their girl is almost five and the oldest boy is eight. I was thinking . . . well, Steve told me he's going to be back in June. So, I was going to invite the two oldest ones, Mateo and Daniella, to come stay with us for a week once he's back and they're out of school for the summer. I'd go out there on the jet and pick them up and then fly them back here. I still need to talk to Steve about it, but I wanted to talk to you, too. The kids would be staying in the den. Do you think . . . would you be alright if they came for a week?" She gave him a tentative smile.

"It's your apartment," Bucky said simply. He wasn't quite sure why she was asking him.

"Yeah, but you live here, too."

Bucky's eyes widened, realization dawning on him. "I mean, if you're worried about me having a setback or something like that, I don't think there'll be a problem. I don't have any flashbacks dealing with children. I should be just fine," he said. "Don't worry about me."

"And you're okay? If they stay?"

"Yeah, sure." He gave her a wide smile. "It'll be fun."

She grinned. "I thought we could take them to the zoo and the beach and maybe Coney Island . . ."

"We'll have a great time," Bucky assured her.

00000

By the time that Daniella and Mateo showed up in mid-June, Bucky had gone a full six weeks without a nightmare or panic attack, a record for him. He slept through the night without the slightest worry, waking up refreshed and content. He thought less and less about his time as the Winter Soldier and began to make plans for the future. He promised himself that if he could make it a full three months without an episode he'd finally take the doctor's suggestion to reduce his medication. He might even start looking for some part-time work, although he wasn't quite sure what kind of job he would apply for.

The afternoon of Stacy's return, he helped Monica and Steve get the apartment ready for the kids. They cleaned up and remade the den into a makeshift bedroom for the children, blowing up air mattresses and putting clean sheets and blankets on them. Steve put his work laptop in his bedroom and locked all of the drawers to his desk to keep the kids out.

Steve had just returned the night before and Bucky could tell that the mission had been rough on him. Two months away from his wife and friends had taken a toll on Steve and he looked unsettled. Bucky tried to talk to him about it, but Steve just shook his head and said he was fine, immediately turning the question back to Bucky. Bucky had assured him that he was doing much better, feeling the most centered and focused he'd ever been since he broke free of Hydra.

Once the den was taken care of, Bucky and Monica went to the grocery store and picked up a few of the kids' favorite foods - chicken nuggets, turkey lunch meat, milk, baby carrots, fresh peaches, and cherries. Monica was excited as they walked up and down the grocery aisles to find all the right foods, telling Bucky all about Steve and Stacy's cute niece and nephew. She had known them ever since they were little, chatting with them whenever Stacy called them on Skype. Bucky smiled to see her so animated and enthusiastic.

When they got back, Steve helped them put away the groceries and before long, the apartment door opened and two dark-haired children came barreling through the door with Stacy trailing behind him. The boy, wearing a Captain America Shield T-shirt, ran straight towards Steve. "Uncle Steve!" he shouted, hugging him tightly.

The girl, wearing the same T-shirt as her brother, saw Monica and her eyes lit up. " **Tía**  Mónica!" She raced towards Monica. Monica scooped her up in her arms, swinging the girl in a wide arc, and then settling the child on her hip.

" **Hola, preciosa**. I've missed you!" she said, holding the girl tightly.

The little girl flung her arms around Monica's neck, giving her a huge kiss on the check. She laid her head on Monica's shoulder and looked up at her adoringly. "I've missed you, too! Talking on Skype isn't the same. I haven't seen you in so long!"

"I know, sweetheart." Monica moved slightly so that the girl could see Bucky. " **Mira** , I wanted you to meet your Uncle Bucky."

Bucky's brows knit at being referred to as an uncle, but he quickly recovered. Monica lowered the little girl to the ground.

Daniella regarded him shyly. "Hello, Uncle Bucky."

He gave her a tender grin. "Hello, Daniella."

"Are you  **Tía**  Mónica's husband?"

Monica blushed. "No, sweetie. We're just friends. You know how your Aunt Stacy and I are best friends, like sisters? Well, he's Uncle Steve's best friend. They're just like brothers. They've known each other a long, long time," she explained with an indulgent smile.

"Oh! Well, then you two should just get married and then everyone's related," Daniella said brightly. "You could have a really big, pretty wedding and I could be your flower girl, just like I was at Aunt Stacy and Uncle Steve's wedding. I got to wear the most beautiful dress. That was the funnest wedding ever. I got to meet Black Widow and Hawkeye. They are so cool. Yeah, you really should get married."

Monica began to giggle. "Thanks for the advice."

Daniella stared at Bucky for a moment, head cocked to the side. "What happened to your arm?" she asked. "Why is it all silvery?"

"Daniella!" Stacy said sharply, looking over at them. She looked at Bucky, giving him a pained expression. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright," Bucky said, kneeling down to get at eye level and beckoning the little girl forward. He normally wore long sleeves, but as the summer grew hotter, he had started wearing T-shirts. "I was in an accident a long time ago and I lost my arm. This is a mechanical arm." He flexed it to show her.

"Cool!" Daniella exclaimed, her eyes wide as saucers as she reached over and her small fingers traced designs on his left arm. "You're like a knight in shining armor! You can be my knight and I can be your princess, okay?"

 _A knight in shining armor?_ Bucky's eyes began to water at the thought. He hadn't ever thought of himself that way. Daniella looked up at him expectantly, bouncing up and down a little on her toes. "Okay, princess," he said, ruffling her hair.

00000

Steve's heart sank a little bit when he saw his niece and nephew. He couldn't believe how big they had grown. It had been nearly a year since their wedding, but the children looked like completely different kids. Mateo had grown at least a head taller and his hair was buzzed short. Daniella looked like a little girl now, no longer the over-grown baby she had seemed when he first met her. It broke his heart a little when she referred to him as "Uncle Steve" instead of "Uncle 'Teve".

He had seen them regularly on Skype, but it wasn't the same. He was shocked at the change. He couldn't believe how quickly they had grown up. He felt like he had missed out on so much of their lives in just a year. He made a decision to make it a priority for him and Stacy to fly out to see them at least two or three times a year. Before he knew it, they'd be grown and he knew more than anyone that you never got that time back.

"Uncle Steve, could we take a photo? You know, like we did before of you holding us all up on the couch?" Mateo asked, his face hopeful. "I can't wait to show all my friends back home."

Steve grinned. He guessed some things didn't change. "Sure."

* * *

 **Author's Note** -

Rough Spanish Translation-

**Aunt**

**Hello, precious one**

**Look**

**Aunt**


	22. Chapter 22

**Ch. 22**

For the rest of their visit, Daniella followed Bucky everywhere. She wanted to hold his left hand as they walked through the zoo or through the park. She had Stacy fix her long hair in an elaborate braid every day of her trip so that she could be a princess with her "knight".

Stacy had a full week of activities planned. Monday, they'd all go to the Central Park Zoo. Tuesday, they'd hit Coney Island. Wednesday, they'd all go to the beach. Thursday would be sight-seeing around the city. Friday was the aquarium. Saturday was the Museum of Natural History since Mateo loved dinosaurs so much. Sunday was a day of rest before Stacy flew out with the kids early Monday morning.

Both Stacy and Monica were off from school. They had gotten tutoring jobs for the summer to earn some extra cash, but they didn't start until after the children had left. Steve took the week off of work, too, since he was eager to spend time with everyone.

00000

The kids stayed up way too late on their first night there because of the three hour time change which was why Stacy chose the zoo for Monday. It was only a short walk from the apartment to the Central Park Zoo and it made for an easy outing on their first full day in New York. Both Daniella and Mateo were asleep until ten, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes as they shuffled out of the den. Stacy poured them some cereal and milk as well as a glass of apple juice for breakfast.

As the kids went back to the den to get ready for the day, Bucky returned to his room to write in his journal a bit. As he looked through the pages of his fourth journal, he smiled as he noticed that most of the thoughts and memories that he had jotted down were happy ones, full of hope and determination. It was such a change from his first journal which contained so much pain and anguish. Once he'd written for a few minutes, he tucked it back in the bookcase and went back to the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked Steve as he saw Mateo sitting next to him at the kitchen table. Steve had a paintbrush in his hand and was dabbing a bit of green on the boy's cheek. He was peering intently at the boy's face and rubbing his own chin.

Steve smiled, looking over at Bucky. "It was Stacy's idea. The kids love getting their faces painted for the zoo. Mateo wants to be a crocodile. I'm trying to figure out the best way to draw one."

"Arrrrrr!" the boy snarled, his fingers extended like claws.

"Oh!" Bucky said, pretending to be scared to encourage the youngster.

"Uncle Steve's going to make me into a tiger. Roar!" Daniella said, twirling around the kitchen in her socks.

"I bet you're going to be the best tiger ever, darling," Bucky said.

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They didn't leave the apartment until well past eleven thirty. Bucky was glad that they had chosen an easy outing for the first full day with the kids. The children loved their face paintings and between the four of them, they must have taken twenty photos of the kids already. Mateo refused to talk once his face was done, only responding in roars and growls for an entire hour.

They were together during most of their visit to the zoo, but then Daniella wanted to spend some extra time feeding the goats in the petting zoo, while Mateo wanted to see the snakes. They decided to split up with Monica and Bucky taking care of Daniella and Steve and Stacy watching over Mateo. They'd be apart for an hour and then meet back up at the sea lion exhibit.

"Uncle Bucky, are you a superhero like Uncle Steve?" Daniella asked once her aunt and uncle had left. "Do you rescue people like he does?"

"No, honey. I'm not," he replied softly. Monica gave him a sympathetic expression, knowing that the question stung him a bit.

"So, you're not super-strong?" Daniella asked. She held out some more grain for the goat in front of her, giggling as the animal licked it from her hand.

"Well, yes. I am," he replied, handing her another handful of grain for the goats.

"Are you super-fast?" she asked.

"Uh-huh. I am," he answered.

Daniella turned and looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face. "Well, if you're super-strong and super-fast, you can be a superhero. You know, save people. Just like Uncle Steve does."

"It's not that easy," Bucky said.

"Well, silly. Of course, it's not easy. Being a hero isn't supposed to be easy. If it was, everyone would be a hero."

Bucky stifled a laugh. "I guess you're right, princess."

Daniella turned back to the goats, offering them the last bit of grain. "I know I am. I'm almost five. I'm not a baby anymore. I'm a big girl," she said sagely.

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Bucky and Monica nearly had to drag Daniella away from the petting zoo. She almost began to cry, but Monica started telling her all about the fun that they were going to have at Coney Island the next day. Daniella soon calmed down as Monica promised her that she could eat cotton candy and go to the ferris wheel.

They arrived at the sea lion exhibit right on time, but Steve, Stacy, and Mateo were nowhere to be seen. Monica texted Stacy and received a reply that they were over by the snow leopards and they'd be there in a few minutes. Monica pocketed her phone and smiled at Bucky. "Oh, Bucky. I have an idea. Why don't you take a photo of me and Daniella in front of the sea lions?" Monica said.

"Sure," Bucky agreed as the two of them stood close together, Monica crouching down to Daniella's level. He took out his phone and snapped a few photos, sending them to Monica's phone once he'd finished.

"Excuse me, young man. Would you like me to take a picture of the three of you?" an elderly woman asked behind him.

"Yes, ma'am. That'd be great," Bucky said, handing over his phone and coming around to Daniella's other side, kneeling down like Monica.

"Oh, how lovely. Get a bit closer together. There you go," the woman said, beaming as she took a half dozen photos.

"Thank you, ma'am," Bucky said as the lady returned his phone.

"Well, you're such a lucky young man. You have such a beautiful family," she commented, patting his back before she turned and left.

Bucky looked over at Monica and Daniella, a slight smile on his lips. He wondered what it would be like to have a family like that. What would it be like to have a daughter like Daniella? What would it be like to have a wife like Monica? He realized that it actually sounded pretty good. Before the war, settling down and starting a family felt like something in the far off future, but now, seeing how happy Steve and Stacy were together, his thoughts turned more towards the idea of one day having what they had. He shook his head. He still had a long way to go. He'd eventually need to go on a date before he could even think of getting married and having kids.

00000

After a long day at the zoo in the hot sun, the kids were tired and a bit grumpy. They ate an early dinner and took their showers. Steve and Stacy went into the den with them to read them a bedtime story before turning off the lights. Afterwards, Steve retreated to his bedroom to check a few work emails. Stacy joined Bucky in the kitchen where he was finishing up the last of the dirty dishes since it was his night to clean up.

"You're great with the kids," Bucky observed, drying a plate. The dishwasher was completely full and he had to do the last few dishes by hand.

"Thanks, Bucky. I really love them. I'm so glad that they came to visit," Stacy said as she poured herself a cup of decaf coffee.

Bucky took a deep breath, putting down the dishtowel. "Look . . . I'll be honest with you. I know me being here is the reason that you and Steve haven't started your own family. You know, I'm doing a lot better now. I could just go, find my own apartment. I've imposed on you guys long enough."

Stacy shook her head. "What are you saying? Steve and I waiting to have kids has absolutely nothing to do with you."

Bucky's head reared back. "It doesn't?"

She scoffed at the idea. "Of course not. Look, Bucky, Steve's been gone so much during the past six months that I hardly know what to do when he's here. There's no way I'm having a baby right now when for all I know he's going to be gone for months at a time. And when we do have children, I am fully planning on making you babysit our kids all the time and unpaid at that," she said with an impish grin. "And Monica, too."

"I heard that," Monica said from the couch in the living room, not even bothering to look up from her phone.

"Tell me I'm not saying the truth," Stacy shot back good-naturedly.

Monica looked over the back of the couch, smiling at Stacy and Bucky. "No, you're right. It'll be you and me, Bucky, babysitting the Rogers kids for the next few decades. Hope you didn't plan on have much free time in the future."

Bucky could help but grin, a weight that he didn't know he'd been carrying finally lifted from his shoulders. The guilt that he'd be standing in the way of his friend becoming a father evaporated. "That'd be great. I love kids."

00000

"Since you 'love kids', I have a favor to ask," Monica asked the next morning after breakfast as she sidled up to him.

"Ask away," Bucky said.

"Well, it's Steve and Stacy's one year anniversary on Sunday night. I thought we could watch the kids while they go out and celebrate."

"You're asking me to babysit? With you?"

She gave him a huge smile. "Yes."

Bucky nodded. "Sure."

_Steve was right; a beautiful woman asks you to babysit and, of course, you say yes_ , he thought wryly.

00000

Coney Island turned out to be just as fun as Bucky remembered. Seeing it through the eyes of a child brought back fond memories of his past. They went on the ferris wheel and the roller coaster. They ate hot dogs and cotton candy until they were nearly sick. They all piled into a photo booth to take pictures, Monica squirming on his lap, something Bucky didn't mind at all.

The rest of the week flew by for Bucky. He could hardly believe it when Sunday night came and he and Monica were shooing Steve and Stacy out the door so that they could enjoy their anniversary dinner. They had protested that they could celebrate it the following weekend, but Monica and Bucky were insistent and finally the couple left, arm in arm, decked out in a tuxedo and a formal gown.

As for babysitting, Bucky felt like they had everything well in place. They had ordered a pizza for Monica and the kids (and two more for Bucky). Monica had found a kids' movie to rent over Itunes that wasn't too scary for Daniella or too "babyish" for Mateo.

As he sat on one end of the couch in the den with Daniella and Mateo between him and Monica, a bowl full of popcorn on his lap and the movie starting on the screen, Bucky took a moment to drink in the scene. He remembered what the woman had said at the zoo, that he was a lucky man to have such a beautiful family. He closed his eyes a moment and let himself just pretend. Pretend for a moment that it was true.

And it didn't feel half bad.

00000

Steve and Stacy got their favorite booth at Luigi's for their anniversary. Steve looked around, thinking of their first date there. He kicked himself when he thought of how many months he wasted, doubting whether or not he should ask Stacy out. He was mesmerized when he looked at her. She must have caught his intense look because she blushed, looking down slightly, an action that tugged at his heart.

He had missed her.

So very much.

The weeks on mission had been hellish. There was so much he wanted to tell her. Hydra kept spreading and replicating like a filthy disease. Whenever they were sure that they had eradicated them, another cell would pop up in yet another country. And, while he wasn't exhausted physically, his spirit felt weary from all of the lies and deception he had seen in the past year.

There had been double and triple agents, moles, leaks, and cyber-espionage. At times, Steve felt like he needed a flow chart just to differentiate the different layers of deceit and betrayal. Just when he thought he had a handle on it, there would be yet another curveball.

And there she was, his rock. She was there for him, soothing his worries. She was like a balm to his soul. While away on assignment, he lived for the times he looked down at his phone and saw a text from her, the times he'd check his email and see a message from her, the times he got to hear her voice or see her on Skype. He couldn't have done it without her.

He felt like he would have drowned without having her as his lifeline.

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"So what's after this?" Stacy asked once they had ordered their dinners.

"Dancing and then, well, I got us a room at the Ritz-Carlton for the night," Steve said with a wink.

"A room?" Stacy asked, her eyes wide.

"Well, I wanted a bit of privacy. It is our anniversary after all."

"The apartment is bit crowded at the moment, isn't it?" she commented. "I wish I knew we were staying overnight. I would have packed a bag."

"Already in the trunk of the limo. Monica helped me out, told me what to pack," he explained.

"You think of everything," she said.

Steve looked across the table at Stacy. "One year. I can't believe it."

"I know. I feel like we just got married." She grinned at him.

He reached across the table and grabbed Stacy's hand. "I've got good news."

She smiled. "I'd love to hear it. I could really use it."

"I've talked to Fury. Recruitment is still down, but it's been steadily picking up. Funding is being slowly restored and we're finally able to get a better selection of agents. I told him that by October, my away assignments needed to be reduced to two weeks or less. If not, I was going to leave the agency," he said firmly.

"Steve!" Stacy exclaimed, her eyes wide.

Steve rubbed his thumb along her palm. "Stacy, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But, it's not fair to either of us to have me gone all the time. As bad as I feel about the state of S.H.I.E.L.D., I'm not willing to sacrifice our marriage to try to rebuild it. Fury grumbled about it . . . . well, shouted actually . . . but he finally agreed. By the time October comes around, I'm back on a regular schedule."

She squeezed his hand. "Oh, honey," she said, her voice cracking.

"I made sure I got a month off for this stint, to make up for the weeks I've been gone. I still need to keep up on teleconferenced meetings or head into the local base, but I'm not going back out till mid-July."

Stacy brightened. "So, you'll be home for your birthday?" Her voice was giddy.

He loved the fact that she was so enthusiastic about celebrating it with him. "You betcha."

"Oh, Steve. I love you."

"I love you more," he replied.

"Not possible," she shot back, a wide grin on her face.

Steve cleared his throat. "And I got us a something for our anniversary."

"We said no gifts!" Stacy protested.

"Don't worry. It's for the both of us. This coming January, you and me. A month in Australia like you've always wanted. Scuba-diving. Koalas. Snorkeling. And most importantly, no snow." He took out a folded pamphlet from his pocket and handed it to her.

"You're kidding me!" she exclaimed as she looked at the brochure for the house he had rented in Sydney.

"Honey . . . when I think of all that you've had to put up with in the past year. . . . And you've been a champ about it. Really, I couldn't have done any of it without you," he said.

Stacy sucked in a noisy breath, concern written all over her face. "What about Bucky?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, if we're gone for a month . . ." she began. "I don't want to leave him all alone."

"Bucky'll understand. And, you've said yourself, he's doing so much better," he said.

Stacy nodded.

"And anyhow, Monica will be here. He won't be alone. She'll watch out for him," he assured her.

"You're right," she agreed. "I can't wait! Australia."

Steve looked at his beautiful wife, realizing once again how very blessed he was. For too long, he'd taken her for granted. She had welcomed his best friend into their home, staying by Bucky as his past ravaged him, helping him out when Steve couldn't be there.

Steve and Stacy were married and he knew that she'd always stand by him. But, he also knew that him spending so much time away was putting too much of a strain on the both of them and it wasn't the kind of life he wanted for them. They both deserved better and he was going to do everything in his power to make things right.

* * *

**Author's Note** -

Special thanks to my tumblr follower, "faithandlovewillkeepmestrong" for all of the wonderful advice about New York City.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Ch. 23**

July Fourth, the day of Steve's birthday, Bucky spent hours scouring the city for all of the supplies Stacy wanted for the party. She had invited Tony, Pepper, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, and Sam as well as their friends from church. Thor had unfortunately declined the invitation as he was in England with Dr. Foster, but he had sent over an entire case of something called "mead", which just looked like hard cider to Bucky.

Stacy had been frantic the last few days about throwing their first big party at their home. She spent nearly a week cleaning, constantly finding one thing or another that needed to get reorganized or straightened up. She fussed over the menu, worried that the food wouldn't be enough, or wouldn't stay hot, or that the guests didn't wouldn't like it

She had cornered Bucky right after breakfast that morning and begged him to help her out. When he agreed, she had thrust a long list in his hand and asked him to be back by four p.m. at the latest. He nodded, but winced a bit as he saw how long the list was.

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When Bucky finally got back to the apartment that afternoon, tired and grumpy from going to at least a dozen different stores, he spied Monica at the kitchen, her finger covered in chocolate icing as she was finishing up frosting the biggest cake Bucky had ever seen.

She gave him a guilty look. "You caught me. I love eating the rest of the frosting when I bake. I already frosted Steve's cake. Want some?" she offered, showing him the bowl.

Bucky shook his head. He was in a foul mood. He was steeling himself for dealing with an apartment full of people, chief among them, Tony Stark. Seeing him always put Bucky on edge and he was worried he wouldn't make it through the party without having a panic attack. It had been almost two months since he had one and the last thing he wanted was to break his streak.

"C'mon, you know you want to," Monica said with a saucy grin.

Bucky sighed. He was emotionally exhausted from running around the city, dealing with one party detail after another, and the last thing he felt like doing was putting up with Monica's teasing. He stalked towards her, deciding that he'd put an end to her razzing of him, if only for a bit.

"See, I knew you wanted it," she teased in a sing-song voice, sliding her finger once again along the side the bowl to bring up another thick gob of chocolate icing. As he drew near, she offered him a spoon to get out the last bit of frosting for himself.

Instead of swiping a spoon through the remaining frosting in the bowl, he caught her hand, bringing her finger to his mouth, flicking his tongue out to lick the frosting from it. He tasted the sweet, rich chocolate, felt her pulse quicken at her wrist, heard the sharp intake of her breath.

"You're right. I did want it," he said huskily, waiting for her to reply with her own snappy comeback.

Instead, she colored, looking down as he released her hand. "I should get these dishes started," she said, collecting the bowls and taking them to the sink. "We have guests coming over in a couple of hours and I still need to shower and change."

Bucky stood there a moment, perplexed, wondering what had caused her to grow so shy. Then, he shook his head and began to unpack all of the supplies that he had gotten for Stacy.

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Steve felt bad at how much time and effort Stacy had gone to make the day special for him, but she wouldn't hear of trying to scale back the party at all. Their entire home was covered in red, white, and blue decorations and the dining room table had been converted into a buffet with hot dogs from both Nathan's Famous and Grey's Papaya along with all the fixings. There were five combo pizzas, four different types of homemade raviolis and three different kinds of salads from Luigi's along with garlic bread. Even with his large appetite, Steve doubted he could make a dent in the spread laid before them.

A few hours after Bucky got back from running errands, Steve stood next to Stacy as they began to welcome the first of the guests to their apartment.

"Sam!" Stacy shouted as she opened the door and saw him standing there. She rushed forward and gave him a tight hug. "It's so good to finally meet you in person! I can't thank you enough for everything you did for Steve. In D.C. and afterwards, when he was trying to track down Bucky."

Sam returned the hug and Steve looked on with a smile. They had "met" each other over Skype, but with Sam training all the time and then going out on missions, this was the first time that they had actually seen each other face to face.

"You're welcome. Thanks for lending us your husband for so many missions. And who is this lovely creature?" Sam asked, waving to his left.

"Oh, hi. I'm Monica," she said, extending her hand and shaking his.

Sam's eyes widened as he looked her over. "You're Monica? The one who lives here?"

"Uh . . . yeah," she said with a smile.

"Well, isn't this my lucky day," Sam replied, his grin growing bigger.

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Bucky was not proud to admit that he hid in his room while the guests arrived. He was running through every conceivable technique he could think of to stave off the panic attack he knew would occur after seeing Tony again. He couldn't bring himself to tell Steve about it, knowing that Steve already avoided Tony so much because of him.

He finally opened the door to his room once everyone had arrived, hoping to hide a bit in the crowd. Perhaps he could avoid seeing Tony although. Steve had told him that Tony had scheduled a special fireworks display on the roof of the Avengers tower at nine that night, so Bucky was sure he could get away with not being cornered by him until then.

He looked around and the tension left his body. Tony was sitting on the living room couch, his back to Bucky, talking intently to Natasha. Bucky deftly crept over to the dining room, focused on getting inside before Tony turned and saw him. He walked through the dining room door, a feeling of triumph overtaking him.

The feeling fled as he looked at the far corner of the dining room.

Sam had his back to him as he was leaning (far too close for Bucky's tastes) over Monica, her back against the wall. She was smiling up at Sam, her eyes wide, laughing at something he said.

"This guy giving you trouble?" Bucky asked good-naturedly as he came up to them, but his voice held a slight edge.

"Not at all," Monica said to him, giving Bucky a wide smile.

"Don't forget to call," she told Sam as she sauntered off to join the rest of the party.

Sam clapped Bucky on his shoulder once she was out of earshot. "Man, I don't know how you do it. Sleeping a few feet away from a woman like that every night." He motioned towards Monica as she walked away, hips swaying back and forth in the short red, white, and blue dress she was wearing. "I'd never get any shut-eye. You're a better man than me," he said, slapping Bucky lightly on the chest with the back of his hand.

"Obviously," Bucky said, giving Sam a fake smile. "So, you gonna ask her out?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone light. Monica had left the door open to the dining room and Bucky could see her as she walked through the living room and started an animated conversation with Erica.

"Definitely," Sam said, slipping his phone back in his pocket. "I can't believe you and Steve have been holding out on me, keeping a fine-looking woman like that to yourselves."

"We've mentioned Monica before," Bucky said tightly, wondering why the thought of Sam dating his roommate bothered him so much. He knew that Sam was a stand-up guy. He shouldn't be upset at all at the idea of them together.

"Yes, mentioned as in 'Monica, the lady that teaches third grade or the lady who helps out at the church nursery'. Not Monica, the Victoria Secret model," Sam groused.

"Victoria what?"

"You have missed out on a lot," Sam chuckled. "It means your roommate is hot. I can't believe you didn't say anything."

Bucky swallowed. It wasn't that he didn't think of Monica that way. He did. Some days, if he were honest with himself, it was almost all he could think of. But, he knew the arrangement they had between the four of them in the apartment was delicate to say the least. If he ever put a move on Monica and things went badly . . . it would all come crashing down on him like a house of cards.

And Monica had seen him at his worst, reeling from a nightmare or horrific flashback, whimpering and nearly incoherent at times. It was hardly the impression you wanted to give to a girl you were going to date. He had always been used to be being the polished ladies' man around women, the Don Juan. It stung that she had seen him so weak and defenseless.

Not only that, she had spent months pushing him to try online dating and find a girl for himself. She had even offered to set him up with a friend of hers, which he had declined. Those hardly seemed the actions of woman who was interested in him.

He shrugged, giving Sam a wan smile. "Like I said, she's a nice girl."

Sam scoffed. "You and I have two very different definitions of that word." He looked at Bucky with narrowed eyes. "Hey, man, I'm not poaching here, am I? There's nothing going on between the two of you, is there?"

Bucky made himself smile for Sam's benefit. "Me and Monica? No. Not at all. Go right ahead. Poach away. Be my guest," he said, slapping Sam on the back a bit harder than strictly necessary.

"I will. I will," Sam promised, looking over at Monica as she talked with her friends.

00000

"May I have this dance?" Bucky asked Monica later on that evening. They were finally playing some slow music, much to Bucky's relief. Earlier in the night, the way people were dancing to the faster music seemed almost comical, like a mass seizure.

"Sure. I'd love to," Monica said brightly, resting her head on his shoulder and swaying back and forth.

"You and Sam sure seemed to hit it off," Bucky observed quietly.

"Yeah. Um . . . Bucky?"

"Yes."

She looked at him, staring him in the eyes. "Sam's a good guy, right?"

He could lie, invent something horrible, scare her into never contacting Sam. But, as he looked at the earnest pleading in her eyes, he didn't have the heart for it. And anyhow, who was he to stand in the way of her happiness? He cared about her. He wanted her to be happy. Maybe Sam was the guy for her. "He's a great guy."

"Oh, thank goodness," she said, her body sagging a bit against him in relief. "I couldn't handle going out with another creep."

00000

Steve led Stacy out to the makeshift dance floor that used to be their living room. As they danced to Michael Bublé's rendition of "You Don't Know Me", Steve couldn't help but watch Monica and Bucky dancing together.

"The way that they are together . . . the way they look at each other . . . do you ever think Bucky and Monica . . . ," Steve began.

"Oh . . . I don't think so," Stacy said, chuckling and shaking her head.

"Really? Why not?" Steve asked, a bit surprised by her reaction.

"Well, remember when Monica took Bucky out on Valentine's Day so that you and I could have some time together?"

"Yep," Steve replied. "Really appreciated that."

"Well, Bucky really flipped out when he thought Monica had taken him out on a date. Monica went on and on about it for days afterward. He just isn't interested in her that way, I guess. I think it hurt her feelings a little at first, but it's a good thing though. Ever since then, Monica's felt more relaxed around Bucky because she knows that he isn't into her like that. She can goof around with him, tease him, just treat him like a brother," Stacy said.

"A brother. Oh," Steve said, his brows knit as he looked over at Monica and Bucky. He could clearly see the way that Bucky looked at Monica. Bucky sure seemed interested to Steve, but perhaps Stacy was right.

000000

After the fireworks were over, most of the guests made their way home. Erica and Michael offered to come back to the apartment and help clean up. Stacy looked like she was about to refuse, but in the end, she nodded, evidently glad for the extra help.

There was a ton of leftover food and Stacy insisted that Erica and Michael take some home especially since Erica was "eating for two". Michael and Monica began to wrap up the leftover food while Stacy and Steve tackled the dishes. Bucky helped Erica with tackling the trash, chagrined that the pregnant woman won't let him do all the work.

"So, who's taking the sugar pills?" Erica asked as she opened up a large black trash bag.

"Sugar pills?" Bucky asked.

"Yep, there's a bottle of them in the guest bathroom. I had to rummage around in the medicine cabinet earlier after I cut my finger on some glass," Erica said.

The color drained from Bucky's face and he rushed over to the cabinet, taking out his bottle of pills from the therapist. He strode over to where Erica was putting used wrapping paper in a trash bag.

"Is this it?" he asked. His fingers holding the bottle were shaking slightly.

She squinted at it, taking out one of the pills and nodded. "Yep. It's the same type of sugar pills that we use in clinical trials. Placebos."

"Placebos?" Bucky asked, walking over sitting heavily down on the living room couch.

"Yeah. It's to control for the effect of people just taking a pill," Erica explained.

"So there's no real medicine in there?" Bucky asked, holding up the bottle.

Erica shook her head. "No. Why were you taking them?"

Bucky got up abruptly, taking the bottle with him. "I . . . I don't want to talk about it."

He stormed to his room, shutting the door behind him. A few moments later, there came a knock at the door. "Hey, buddy. You want to talk?"

Bucky couldn't bear to ruin Steve's birthday by unloading all of his anger and frustration out on him. "No. I'm okay. Look, I know it's early, but I spent all morning running around the city. I think I'm going to just turn in."

"You sure, Bucky?" Steve's voice was tentative.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Bucky lied.

"Alright. I'm here if you need me."

"I know."

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The nightmares came fast and furious that night for Bucky, one on top of another, like a woman having contractions. Just when one would end, another would start up, more twisted and dark than the previous one. He ended up in the bathtub, naked and shivering, retching on all fours, trying to wash and scrub the filth away. Monica tried to knock on the bathroom door around two in the morning, but he sent her away, blaming the rich food from the party for feeling sick.

Finally, he staggered to bed around five in the morning, praying for sleep and finally finding rest.

000000

The next day was rough for Bucky, but he made it through. It was a Sunday, so despite his lack of sleep, he forced himself to get up around ten and get ready to go to the eleven o'clock church service with his roommates.

After breakfast, Monica motioned him into her room and he followed warily.

She closed the door behind him and enveloped him in a tight hug. "Erica told me. About the placebos. I know last night was bad for you and I know that you didn't want to put a damper on Steve's birthday, but you can't keep this stuff in like that. We're here for you. We're family."

 _Family._ He looked at her and he smiled before letting go and stepping back. "I know. I just wish that this wouldn't keep happening."

"Bucky, you're so much better than you used to be. Remember when you didn't leave the apartment? When you couldn't even talk? I know it's so hard on you to have a setback, but you're not alone. You're never alone."

Bucky looked at her and nodded. He was about to say something when her phone buzzed and she looked down at it, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Who's that?" he asked, although he was fairly sure of the answer.

"Sam. We're going out tonight."

Bucky took a deep breath. "Good. Good for you. Well, I . . . I better finish getting ready for church."

She smiled. "Okay. Don't forget what I said."

"I won't."

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Steve and Stacy invited him to go to the movies that evening, but Bucky declined, saying that he hadn't slept much the night before and he wanted to get some shut-eye. Steve pulled him aside and tried to get Bucky to open up about the placebos, but Bucky shrugged him off, saying that he was fine. He gave a sigh of relief when they finally left, glad that he no longer had to keep up the façade of doing well.

An hour later, Monica emerged from her room wearing the plum dress that Bucky liked so much on her, the one that had a 1940s silhouette. He sucked in his breath when he saw her, practically memorizing her form.

"Can you help me?" she asked, walking towards him with a thin gold bracelet in her hands. "It was my mother's. It's kind of my good luck charm. I always wear it on dates. Although it hasn't worked very well lately," she chuckled.

She handed over the bracelet and held out her wrist. Carefully, he fiddled with the clasp and put it on her, his fingers grazing the inside of her wrist.

"How do I look?" Monica asked, nervously smoothing out the skirt of her dress.

"Like a million bucks," Bucky said.

"Really?" she asked.

"He'd be a fool not to sweep you off your feet," Bucky said truthfully.

"Thanks, Bucky," she said, leaning over and giving him a fierce hug. "I appreciate it."

"Go, get'em, tiger," he said encouragingly.

She gave him one more brief smile before she walked out the door. As it shut behind her, Bucky's face fell and he wondered what was bothering him. It was hardly the first time she had gone on a date. At least once or twice a month, she went out with a new guy she'd met to get coffee or to eat dinner. Maybe it was because Sam seemed like someone who'd be around for a while. Maybe it was just the idea of not getting to spend as much time with a woman who had become one of his closest friends.

Bucky shrugged. He supposed that was it.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** - For those of you who like little inside scoops on what is going on in the characters' heads, go ahead and listen to  **Michael Bublé's "You Don't Know Me" for Bucky and Monica's dance**. There's a version on youtube with the lyrics.


	24. Chapter 24

**Ch. 24**

For the next few hours after Monica left, Bucky was uneasy and restless. He tried writing in his journal. He tried watching T.V. He surfed the internet, clicking on site after site, not remembering a single news story he read. Nothing helped.

Steve and Stacy came back home from the movie around ten, laughing and talking loudly. Bucky was already in bed, and thought about coming out of his room to talk with them, but as the tone of their conversation became a bit more amorous and heated, he decided to stay in his room and give the married couple their privacy. A few moments later, he heard the door to their bedroom slam shut and he was glad that their room was on the far side of the apartment. He grabbed his phone and put his headphones in to listen to some music on loud for the next hour or so.

Finally around eleven-thirty that night, Bucky had taken out his earbuds and was reading in bed when he heard Monica come home. From the way she was slamming the door to her room and to the refrigerator, it sounded as though she had had a bad night.

After a few minutes of hearing her crash about, he pulled on a pair of shorts over his boxer briefs, opened the door to his room, and padded down the hall to the kitchen. She was seated at the kitchen table, with her back to him, hunched over a pint of Rocky Road. She had already changed into her normal night-clothes during the summer, a pair of loose cotton shorts and a tank top. Her face was wiped clean of makeup, and her hair had been swept up into a short ponytail.

"Bad date?" Bucky asked as he came up behind her, trying to tamp down the surge of perverse hope that surged through him.

"Not bad. Just frustrating," she said in a small voice, leaning over a little and rubbing her forehead with her left hand, looking down at her ice cream.

"What . . . what happened?" The defeated tone in her voice tugged at him.

"Same thing as always. I'm looking for 'Mr. Right' and the guy is looking for 'Miss Right Now'. I mean, Sam's handsome, funny; he seemed wonderful. We were having such a good time, talking, laughing, getting along great. And then he starts up with the demands of his job and how he can't handle a commitment right now and he's just looking for something casual and how he hoped I was okay with that." She let out a small sigh, sticking her spoon in her ice cream.

"I'm so, so, so tired of casual dating. I'm sick of first dates that never led to second ones. I'm just," she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and let out a shaky breath, ". . . exhausted by the whole process. I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. I look at Erica and Stacy and how happy they are and I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if it's supposed to be this hard to fall in love."

He placed his right hand on her left shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, not knowing what to say.

She reached over with her right hand and laced her fingers in his, leaning her head to the left and raising her shoulder to squeeze their hands together. "Thanks, Bucky. I mean it. Thanks for always being there for me. You're a great friend."

"I'll always be here for you, Monica," he said firmly. He thought of all the times Monica had been there for him, listening to him sob over his past, encouraging him as he recovered. He could do no less for her.

She turned to look up at him, giving him a sad smile. "I know. You're such a good guy. Amazing, really. I just wish . . . ." and she trailed off, looking down and shrugging her shoulders. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. Can't change the way things are," she said briskly.

She let go of his hand and stood, taking her pint of ice cream back to the freezer and depositing her dirty spoon in the dishwasher. "Well, I better head to bed," she said, obviously forcing herself to act positive. "I've got work in the morning. Night, Bucky."

"Good night, Monica," he replied, watching her return to her room. While he hadn't been excited about her dating Sam, it tore him up to see her so upset. He wished he knew how to make things better.

000000

Monica didn't mention anything about the date to Steve or Stacy, Bucky noticed the next morning, just smiling blandly when they asked her about it over breakfast on Monday. Bucky was sure she didn't want to say anything bad about Steve's friend and he admired her restraint. He thought that Sam was being short-sighted to say the least, but if he were honest with himself, Bucky had dated many women he couldn't see marrying, just for the fun of it. Looking back on it, he wondered how many hearts he had broken with his cavalier attitude towards commitment.

Monica seemed to take it in stride, going off to work with Stacy with a cheerful attitude. Bucky knew that they'd be out tutoring for the majority of t he day, so he started to write down a list of groceries to buy. Maybe he'd make one of Monica's favorite dishes tonight, roasted chicken with potatoes. Maybe that would cheer her up a bit.

"Did Monica tell you anything about what happened last night?" Steve asked him once the women left for work. He was going to work from home that day and he'd planned to take both Bruce and Bucky to lunch around noon.

Bucky shrugged. "It's not for me to tell. Why don't you ask Sam?"

Steve blew out a frustrated breath. "Alright, I will. You're coming to the base with me tomorrow, right?"

Bucky nodded. "Every Tuesday. Like clockwork."

"And you're not sore about the pills?" Steve asked delicately.

"That's between me and the doc," Bucky said tightly.

"Just . . . please hear her out. You've gotten so much better since you started going to her. I don't want you to do anything you'd regret," Steve said.

Bucky nodded, not having the heart to lie to Steve.

00000

"So, how'd things go with Monica?" Steve asked Sam the next morning as they were all in the training room together. Bucky had his therapy appointment, but he stopped in with Steve to see Sam before it started.

Sam shrugged. "We had a good time. We got along very well. I mean, she's great . . . . really pretty. She seemed really sweet."

Bucky rolled his eyes.  _Pretty? Just pretty?_  Bucky thought.  _She's gorgeous._

Sam paused and shook his head. "I don't know, man, but I got the distinct feeling that she's looking to settle down. Get serious right away, you know? And that's just not where I'm at right now. But who knows? Maybe I'll look her up in three, four years. Like I said, she's a great girl."

"Yeah, I know she is," Steve said flatly. Bucky could see that Steve was a bit disappointed that it didn't work out between the two of them, but he was trying to hide it. "Well, we'd better go over the specs for the upcoming assignment. It looks like a doozy."

"I should head over to my appointment. See ya in an hour," Bucky said, not bothering to look at Sam, feeling irrationally angry at him. How blind could Sam be? He had a shot with a wonderful girl like Monica and he had wasted it.

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Bucky had told himself that he was going to confront his therapist calmly and rationally about what she did to him, lying about the medication like she did. He had promised himself he wasn't going to fly into a rage. But as he got closer to her office and remembered all that he had shared with her, her betrayal stung him more and more. He found himself walking faster and faster down the hall towards her office, his anger intensifying with each step.

He flung open her door and strode inside. She was sitting in her normal seat next to the chaise lounge, a bland professional smile playing on her lips.

"So, how are you today, Sergeant Barnes?" she asked brightly.

He took out the bottle of pills out of his pocket and threw it against the wall, shattering the glass in the frame that held her diploma.

She flinched slightly, but otherwise didn't move. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" she asked calmly, her foot hovering over the panic button.

"Sugar pills? Really? What gave you the right?" he snarled as he advanced on her.

She held her ground. "You're right. It's completely unethical," she said in a soothing tone. "And if I were working for anyone other than a clandestine organization with shaky morals, I'd probably be sacked for it. But you needed it."

"I needed it?" he shouted, pacing the room, trying desperately to stop his fingers from curling into fists.

"You needed it. Be honest with me, Sergeant Barnes. Wasn't it the least bit suspicious that I gave you a bottle of unmarked pills every week with no warning label, no cautions about any sort of drug interactions? You're an intelligent man. And yet, that didn't raise any red flags for you?"

"I trusted you!" he ground out.

"You wanted those pills to work. You needed them to work. I'm asking you again; be honest with me. Would you have come back that second week if it weren't for those pills? You've said it yourself. I've read it in your journal time and time again. Carrot and stick. You needed to believe there was some magical solution to your problems. Like Dumbo. You saw the movie Dumbo when it came out, right? He needed a magic feather to believe he could fly. But that ability was inside himself the whole time."

"So what are you're saying?" he asked as he sat down heavily on the chaise lounge, facing her, elbows resting on his thighs as he held his face in his hands.

She leaned towards him a bit. "You have the power to heal. You have the power to recover from what happened to you. You always have. You just needed to believe that you could get better."

"What if you're wrong?" Bucky asked in a small voice.

"I'm not. Look, I'm sorry for deceiving you. But I'm not sorry for the progress I've seen in you. During our first session, you were completely closed down. You wouldn't talk. I'm sure you didn't hear a word I said to you."

Bucky nodded. She was right. He hated to admit it, but she was right.

"I am so very proud of how far you've come. That is why, time and time again, I've been trying to wean you off of those pills. I wanted you to believe that you had the ability to heal from what happened to you."

"So . . . . what happens now?" he asked.

"Well, I bet the nightmares came back once you found out that the pills were placebos, correct?"

"Yeah. Some of the worst ones yet."

"Okay. That's where we'll start."

000000

The next few nights were rocky for Bucky, but with the doctor's advice, his nightmares began to lessen. He used a technique she had been suggesting for months where he consciously replayed the nightmare while awake, changing the outcome to a more positive ending. So, instead of his platoon being mowed down by faceless Hydra agents, he would imagine saving everyone. Instead of being strapped down to the machine to have his mind wiped, he would escape and get free.

And it began to work. Night after night, his nightmares were fewer, less intense, less horrifying. By Friday morning, he was feeling positively chipper, for although he had dreamed the night before, he barely remembered it in the morning and had gotten nearly seven hours of sleep.

He puttered around the apartment, nearly whistling. Stacy and Monica were out of the house, working at their summer jobs, tutoring at a local library. Steve was at the base, training some of the newer recruits that would make up his team for his next assignment. Bucky wanted to get a few chores done and maybe get some more groceries for the weekend. He smiled at the idea of them all together. Perhaps he'd suggest they all go to the beach.

His planning was interrupted when the door to the apartment abruptly opened and Tony Stark strode in, standing in the middle of the living room like he owned the place. Bucky narrowed his eyes at the fact that Tony must have coded the door to open for his own palm, a stunning lack of manners if he ever saw one. But worst of all was what Tony was wearing.

"Why are you wearing your Iron Man armor?" Bucky asked suspiciously.

"I wanted things to be even," Tony said, flipping up his helmet and staring at Bucky coldly. "How long did Fury and Steve think they'd be able to keep it from me?"

"What are you talking about?" Bucky hedged, but his stomach began to churn.

Tony closed the gap between them, staring daggers at Bucky. "You murdered my parents." His tone was low and deadly.

Bucky sucked in his breath. He didn't have the words. Instead, he just nodded.

"Why?" Tony spat out.

"Hydra thought that your father was a threat," Bucky said.

"And my mother?"

"She . . . she wasn't a target."

"Then, why did you kill her?" Tony asked, the tension behind the question nearly palpable.

"I . . . I didn't know she was going to be there. When I called in that there was someone else in the car, my handler told me to just proceed as planned," Bucky said, every word costing him as it came out.

Tony took a step forward and reflexively, Bucky stepped back, the shame of what he had done cowering him. "So . . . what . . . she was just collateral damage?"

Bucky nodded, words failing him.

"And if I had been in that car? At seventeen years old?" Tony asked.

After everything, Tony deserved honesty. Bucky looked him in the eye. "You would have died, too."

"And why didn't you tell me this months ago?" Tony asked acidly. "You live in my Tower, I help you fix your arm, and you don't have the guts to tell me the truth?" He shook his head, his face full of disgust. "So . . . what? You're a coward on top of being a murderer?"

"It . . . it wasn't me. It was him."

"Him?"

"The Winter Soldier," Bucky said.

"Convenient . . . Is that how you sleep at night . . . telling yourself it was all your alter ego's fault?" Tony sneered.

"No . . . Actually, up until recently I had to take pills every night so I wouldn't wake up screaming." Bucky's mind went back to the flashbacks he had of assassinating Howard and Maria Stark. He remembered the feeling of snapping Howard's neck, his fingers slick with Howard's blood from the crash. He remembered the feeling of satisfaction that he had completed his mission according to plan. He remembered being heaped with praise for a job well done before being frozen again to wait for another assignment.

"Pack up your stuff. You're not sleeping another night in my Tower."

Bucky wanted to say something, but in the end, he just shook his head. "Fine."

"Barnes . . . I better never see you again, because if I do, that's the last day you'll draw breath."

Bucky nodded. "For what it's worth, I am sorry. I knew Howard. I considered him a friend. I never would have intentionally hurt him." Howard had always made Bucky laugh with his outrageous comments, with his bravado, with his ingenuity.

Tony shook his head, contempt dripping from every word. "And yet you murdered him and his wife, leaving his kid an orphan. What does that say about you?"

Bucky pressed his lips together in a grim expression. He stalked over to the kitchen and grabbed a few oversized trash bags and then stalked to his room. He filled two bags in short order with the clothes and the few personal belongings he'd collected over the last few months. Tony crossed his arms, staring at him, watching his every move. In a few minutes, he'd collected his belongings and walked out the door.

Bucky thought of leaving a note, but what was he going to say, really? Tony was the best man at Steve's wedding and Bucky had killed his parents, leaving Tony an orphan. A part of him knew that it was going to end this way. He had been just prolonging the inevitable.

Tony followed him down the eight flights of stairs, never saying another word to him. Once they reached the lobby, Tony waved to the security guards stationed there. "This man is never to be allowed back in the Tower."

The guards nodded, a few of them giving Bucky a surprised look. He had talked with them on numerous occasions over the months and knew their names and their backgrounds. He felt humiliated to be escorted out by Tony, but the guilt over what he had done to Tony's parents was the worst.

"The only reason that you're not lying in a bodybag right now is Steve," Tony called after him as Bucky began to leave the building.

"I know."

"I see you again, Barnes, and even being Steve's best friend won't save you."

"I understand," Bucky said softly as he hefted the bags over his shoulder and walked out the door. As the door shut behind him, he stood on the sidewalk, the heat hitting him like a brick wall. He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, looking left and right.

While his military benefits left him financially secure, he had no job, no home, and was effectively barred from his best friends' home.

Now what was he going to do?

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Ch. 25**

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he attended yet another mind-numbingly boring meeting at the New York S.H.I.E.L.D base. The conference room was crowded with over a dozen analysts along with Natasha and Fury. He did his best to take notes, but he couldn't barely keep his eyes open as one presentation seemed to blur into the next one. He doodled, ending up drawing about a dozen mini-sketches of Stacy, being careful that Fury didn't catch him wool-gathering. He kept fidgeting in his seat to avoid falling asleep through yet another slideshow presentation of the state of the agency. Although he was glad that he was back home, he had to admit, the administrative portion of his job was driving him a bit mad. He had never attended a meeting, no matter how long, that couldn't be summed up in a one page memo.

The gist of the current one he was attending was that numbers were up and recruiting was going better than expected. Fury had finally been able to finagle some extra funding, calling in the last of the favors owed him, so the quality of the recruits had gone up considerably as the financial packages and signing bonuses offered became more lucrative. Some past S.H.I.E.L.D. agents even left their current positions in the F.B.I. and C.I.A. to return back to the agency. Steve had been glad to seem some familiar faces walking down the halls of the New York base.

There were hopes that they would be able to reopen the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy in the fall. All the qualified instructors (who were still alive after the raid on the facilities by Hydra) had been briefed and the damage to the buildings had been repaired. It looked like the campuses would be opened at forty percent capacity in September.

Having the Academy up and running was a major coup for the agency. It meant that within a few years, they would start getting recruits into S.H.I.E.L.D. who had the background and proper training for the job. At the moment, a lot of the senior agents like Natasha, Clint, and Steve were forced to run crash courses and seminars to get the newer recruits up to speed. Considering how Steve had lost one of the new recruits on a mission, having the Academy to vet and educate the incoming agents was a blessing.

All in all, things were finally looking up. Fury had reiterated his promise to Steve that he'd be able to reduce his workload come October. And although it was still three months away, Steve was already imagining getting to stay home more with Stacy. They had talked more and more about the possibility of starting a family. Steve was looking forward to the day when they'd be able to make their own special announcement to their friends and family.

The meeting finally ended and as Steve walked out of the conference room, Fury caught his eye and motioned to the left. "My office."

Steve nodded, following the director into his office. Once he had closed the door behind him, Fury turned to him, his arms crossed. "I just got word. Looks like Stark was seen escorting Sergeant Barnes out of your building a couple of hours ago. Stark was wearing his full Iron Man armor and Sergeant Barnes was carrying two large trash bags, presumably full of his belongings."

Steve rubbed his forehead. "Tony found out. About what the Winter Soldier did to his parents."

"Most likely," Fury confirmed.

"Well, I guess I've got to be glad it didn't end with someone in the hospital. I'll go track down Bucky, straighten this whole thing out."

"Straighten this whole thing out?" Fury scoffed. "Your friend murdered Stark's parents."

"You know it wasn't his fault," Steve countered.

"I do. And I don't blame Sergeant Barnes for his actions while under Hydra's control. Not even for his attempt on my life. But my parents weren't killed by him. I wasn't orphaned by him. You can't expect Stark to be able to take this rationally. The course of his life was irrevocably changed because of what Sergeant Barnes did."

"It wasn't his fault!"

"I know. But the Winter Soldier is effectively dead. And getting revenge on Sergeant Barnes may give Stark the only closure he's ever going to know," Fury said.

"I'll talk to Tony. I will. But first, I need to find Bucky."

"Need any help with that?" Fury asked.

"No. I've got this. Thanks . . . for giving me the heads up," he said before turning to leave.

"You're welcome, Cap. Good luck."

"Thanks," Steve said over his shoulder as he strode out of the office, knowing that he'd need it.

000000

Bucky stood there a moment, blinking on the sidewalk, wishing he had remembered to grab a pair of sunglasses before leaving the apartment. He needed to regroup, decide his next move. He could feel the guilt and shame gnaw away at him, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the practical. Steve's favorite cafe was only a block away. Bucky would go there, get out of the heat, grab some lunch, and try to find a place to stay for the night.

As he sat down to an enormous turkey sandwich and two bags of chips a few minutes later, Bucky let out a slow breath. He could feel himself slipping into a panic attack, but he couldn't afford to lose it. He focused on the techniques the doctor had told him about to help stave off an attack in public. He focused on his breathing, closing his eyes briefly as he inhaled and exhaled. After a few moments, he felt a bit better, promising himself that he could fully let go once he was in private.

Bucky took out his phone and started to look for a place to stay for the night. He was sure that Sam would have let him sleep on his couch, but a part of him was still upset about what happened with him and Monica. Seeing how frustrated Monica had been the night after they had gone out had really bothered Bucky and although rationally he couldn't blame Sam for not wanting a commitment right away, he still thought Sam threw away a chance to be with an amazing woman.

Josh or Michael and Erica would let him stay in a heartbeat, but he didn't want to put them in Tony's bad books. Josh worked for one of Tony's companies and Michael and Erica's research was funded by him. And although Bucky hoped that Tony wouldn't retaliate against them if Bucky decided to stay with either of them, he couldn't be entirely sure of it.

Bruce had always been there by his side. They'd had lunches together nearly every Monday for months now and had started to develop a really strong friendship. But, Bruce lived at the Tower and worked closely with Tony. Bucky couldn't imagine jeopardizing all that just to have a place to stay.

Somehow, everyone he knew was somehow connected to Tony in one way or another. He hadn't quite realized it before. Tony's presence was larger than life, affecting everyone around him. Bucky realized just how much of his life had been enmeshed in Tony's even when he had done his best to avoid him.

The few friends he'd made at the group therapy sessions had chaotic lives at best and Bucky couldn't think of imposing on them. So, given that staying with anyone he knew was out of the question, he began to look at hotels close by with his phone. He had enough saved up from his military benefits that he didn't need to be worried about the price although he winced a bit when he saw what hotels were going for near the Tower. Central Park seemed to be a popular area to stay.

After a few minutes, he booked a mid-price hotel and found the directions. It was only a short walk away from the cafe. Check-in wasn't until three in the afternoon, but he called the front desk and they cleared him to check in early.

Bucky stood, dropping a hefty tip on the table. Like Steve, he remembered how hard it could be to make ends meet and he never skimped when it came to giving to others. He caught the eye of his waitress to indicate he was leaving and she gave him a wide smile. He tried to smile back, but he couldn't. Instead, he hefted his two bags full of all his earthly belongings and headed out to his new place.

000000

Once he was in his hotel room and the door closed behind him, Bucky sank to the floor and allowed himself to let go. Everything that had happened in the past hour crashed down upon him and he just gave himself permission to lose it. He hugged his knees to his chest and rocked back and forth as the memories came flooding back to him. They weren't just of him killing Howard and Maria. He remembered shooting the scientist that Natasha was protecting. He remembered calculating the exact right angle to fire to accomplish his mission, not worrying at all if he killed Natasha in the process. It never even came into his mind.

One after another, the flashbacks came back to him. Flashbacks of him killing without regard, without remorse. He remembered being proud of his accomplishments, of almost preening as he was praised for eliminating each target. He was told time and time again that he was making the world a better place, a safer place for other people. And he believed his handlers. He never questioned, he never deviated from the course set before him. He simply complied.

How many lives had he destroyed? Each life he took affected others like ripples in a pond. Someone lost their father, their daughter, their best friend, the love of their life. He imagined the lives ruined in his wake, how he had spread misery wherever he went. Tony wasn't the only one who had lost a parent. Tony wasn't the only one who walked around with a ragged hole in his soul because of what Bucky had done.

The only time Bucky broke his conditioning was when they sent him after Steve. He questioned Pierce, lost in his hazy memories. Pierce had hauled back and hit him and still it didn't register to Bucky. He just couldn't focus on anything other than the memories skittering around his brain. But even with that, they just wiped him again and sent him out to murder his best friend. And he nearly succeeded. He remembered shooting Steve, doing everything he could to prevent Steve from completing his mission. He remembered his grim determination to kill his closest friend.

He was confused when Steve stopped fighting back, when he kept saying that he was his best friend. And then, Steve fell and in a flash, Bucky followed him down, doing his best to save the man he had tried to kill a few minutes before. He left Steve on the banks of the river, certain that Hydra was coming for him, ready to punish him for deviating from his mission.

He sat there on the floor for the better part of an hour, lost in a haze of pain and desperation. Then, he heard a sharp rap on the door. Bucky forced himself to stand up, gritting his teeth. "Who is it?" he asked roughly.

"It's me, Steve. Let me in."

Bucky hesitated and then walked towards the door, opening it slowly. Steve was there, anxiety coming off of him in waves. Bucky waved him in, closing the door behind him. Bucky sat down on the bed and Steve took the lone chair next to the table.

"How did you know I was here? Does S.H.I.E.L.D. have some sort of tracker on me?" Bucky asked softly with narrowed eyes. He shuddered to think of what had happened while he was unconscious and in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody. Hydra would have placed a tracker in him and would have performed all kinds of perverse experiments. Steve had promised him that S.H.I.E.L.D. would never do such things, but Bucky knew how well the ends can justify the means for some people. Even the therapist that S.H.I.E.L.D. had assigned him to, a woman he had trusted implicitly, had compromised her morals to achieve the results she wanted. Steve still had the ability to trust what people told him. Bucky wondered when he had lost his. Maybe what the therapist had done was just the last nail in the coffin after decades of being lied to and manipulated for the "greater good".

Steve shook his head gently, giving Bucky a small smile. "No . . . nothing like that. It was Monica."

"Monica?"

"She installed an app on your phone. In case you ever lost it or if it got stolen."

"My phone?" Bucky looked down at the device he had placed on the end table.

"Yeah. I figured you wouldn't think to turn it off."

"Huh. An app? She thinks of everything." There was something about the gesture that tugged at Bucky's heart, that touched a place he didn't know existed anymore. Months ago, when she barely knew him, Monica had thought of doing something kind, something to help him out if he ever lost his phone. It seemed so like something she would do. How many times had she gone out of her way to make life easier for him, to help him out over the past months? Knowing her had been such an unexpected gift after a life full of so much pain and regret.

"She really does," Steve said simply. "Tony found out, didn't he?" Steve gave him a look filled with pity and compassion.

Bucky winced. "Yeah."

"And what happened?" Steve leaned over a bit, peering intently at Bucky.

Bucky wasn't in the mood to go through it all again. "He asked me to leave the Tower," he said curtly.

"Asked or ordered?" The question was sharp and Bucky could see Steve tense his muscles as a flash of anger overtook him.

"Does it matter, Steve? I killed his parents." He knew Steve was on his side, but the facts were the facts. Because of Bucky, Tony was an orphan.

"No, you didn't. The Winter Soldier did."

"I'm the Winter Soldier." It felt odd to say it out loud. Bucky had spent so much of his time separating himself from The Winter Soldier, telling himself that it was a separate identity, a completely different person taking over his body. But, he couldn't deny how he took pleasure in his accomplishments, how his Hydra handlers over the years had appealed to his sense of right and wrong in justifying every kill. In his mind, he had been a hero, eliminating the threats to humanity. Little did he know that he was one of the worst threats of all.

"No. You're not. You haven't been for over a year."

Bucky stared at Steve. He just didn't get it, did he? A year was nothing when it came to this kind of destruction. "I broke his father's neck!" Bucky shouted. "I drove them off the road and then checked on the bodies. Howard was still breathing when I got to him. He even asked me why. He probably recognized me. His last act on earth was wondering why a person he called a friend was killing him. I snapped his neck without blinking, Steve. I'm a monster. I try to pretend I'm not, but I'll never get away from it. It will always come back. I ruin everything I touch. I corrupt everything I'm around. Look at what happened. Now I've created this impossible rift before you and the best man at your wedding. I destroy everything I'm a part of." Bucky looked down and let out a strangled sob.

"Oh, Bucky," Steve said as he reached over and placed a hand on his friend's hunched over shoulder. "I'm sorry. But the monster wasn't you. It was Hydra. Hydra wanted Howard dead. They just used you like a weapon. I've said it before, if it hadn't have been you, it would have been another Hydra agent."

Bucky looked up at Steve, tears streaming down his face. "But it was me. And Tony will never forgive that."

Steve scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know. I hope he will. But, either way, you're coming home with me."

Bucky looked up at Steve, stricken. "I can't. There's no way Tony . . . ." he began.

"You leave Tony to me. I'll talk with him."

"No, Steve. I'm staying here."

"We won't all fit in this room," Steve said.

"In this room?"

"You, me, Stacy, Monica . . . we're a family. If you're moving out, we're all moving out. You want to make my poor wife live in a cramped hotel room?" Steve teased.

"No. Don't be ridiculous," Bucky said.

"You're the one who's being ridiculous. You think after spending the first six months of my marriage searching for you that I'm going to let you just run off like that? We're with you, Bucky. 'Till the end of the line," Steve said.

Bucky's mouth quirked at having his words thrown back at him. He looked at Steve and remembered his boundless determination from when they were kids. A skinny, sickly kid who took on the world, who never back down from a fight, who never gave up when it came from doing what was right. What made Bucky think he could ever win an argument in the face of such complete and utter obstinance? He shook his head, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Alright. I know when I've been beat. But, how are we even getting through the front door? The security guards aren't going to let me in."

Steve broke out in a wide grin, triumph written on his face. "You let me worry about that."

* * *

**Author's Note** - 

For my Bucky/Monica shippers, hold onto your hats. The next chapter is going to be a doozy!

  
  



	26. Chapter 26

**Ch. 26**

**Trigger Warning-** This chapter mentions a past child death. If that's something you would rather not read about, you can just skip to the last third of the chapter.

* * *

Steve's plan for the security guards was easy. He wasn't going to deal with them at all.

He was going to deal with Tony directly.

He had Bucky check out of the hotel. They both walked to the Cafe Mystère near the Tower. The plan was to have Bucky wait there while Steve talked to Tony. Once he had cleared everything up with Tony, Steve would call Bucky and tell him to come back up to the apartment.

After leaving Bucky at the cafe with a solemn promise not to go anywhere else, Steve stopped off at the apartment first, dropping Bucky's garbage bags filled with his belongings onto his bed. He winced at the state of Bucky's room, imagining his best friend tearing around, stuffing all he had into a couple of plastic bags. He made a mental note to buy Bucky some proper luggage for Christmas, chagrined he hadn't thought of it before.

"JARVIS, where's Tony?" Steve asked, still unnerved that the AI had access to the entire Tower.

"He's presently located on the 88th floor, in one of Dr. Banner's labs. They've both been there for the last forty-eight minutes."

Steve bit his lower lip. He preferred to talk to Tony in private, but he couldn't wait a moment longer. "Thanks."

Steve rehearsed all he was going to say to Tony during the elevator ride up. He knew it was going to be difficult to plead his case given Tony's emotional state, but he knew he had to get through to him.

As he pressed his hand to the locking device next to the lab door, he wondered for a moment if Tony would change the locks on him. Steve was sure that Tony was incensed that he hadn't told him earlier about what The Winter Soldier had done to his folks.

To Steve's surprise, the door opened without a problem. Tony and Bruce were seated side by side at a far table in the lab, looking at some testing results at a huge holographic display. Tony's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed when Steve strode through the door.

"Tony," Steve began.

Tony stood and began walking towards Steve, shaking his head in disgust. "Well, if it isn't my favorite Boy Scout," Tony said sarcastically. "Although, isn't there something in the scout law about being trustworthy? Seems like you flunked that little bit."

"Look, Tony," Steve said.

"What's this all about?" Bruce asked, perplexed, still seated at the table.

Tony turned to Bruce. "Oh, they haven't told you? They're great for keeping secrets, aren't they? Smile to your face while they stab you in the back," Tony bit out as he stopped a few feet in front of Steve.

"It wasn't like that," Steve said in a placating tone. He needed to Tony to understand what had happened. He wasn't going to give up until he could get Tony to rescind his eviction of Bucky.

"How long did you know? How long did you know that Barnes murdered my parents?" Tony asked.

Steve hated to admit the truth, but he took a deep breath. The time for secrets and lies was over. He needed to come clean. "Fury told me. When I picked Bucky up from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody in January."

"January? January! You knew for seven months that you were harboring the man who slaughtered my parents and you didn't see fit to tell me anything?" Tony asked. "What happened to you, man?"

"Look, I'm sorry, Tony. I should have told you right away." Looking at Tony's face, Steve was shocked at the raw pain and hurt that he saw. He was always a straight shooter and he knew that lying to Tony had put a strain on their friendship. Deep down, Steve knew that he was doing to the wrong thing, but his desire to protect Bucky trumped all of his other concerns.

"Why didn't you?"

"Bucky was practically catatonic. I wanted him to heal, get better." Steve remembered the pathetic state that Bucky had been in when he first saw him.

"He seems fine now," Tony observed tightly.

"I know. He's better. He still struggles, but he's come a long way. The truth is, I just . . . I didn't know what to say. It wasn't his fault, Tony. It was Hydra. You know that they brainwashed him, played with his memory, wiped away his personality. He had no choice. It wasn't him. It was The Winter Soldier," Steve said. He needed to get Tony to understand that it wasn't Bucky.

"' _It wasn't me; it was my evil alter ego_ '." Tony's lip curled in disgust. "Yeah, I already got that sorry excuse from Barnes," he said. "It doesn't make my parents any less dead."

"What about me, Tony?" Bruce asked, his normally gentle voice rough and full of emotion.

"What about you? Look, I know you're friends with Barnes, too . . ." Tony began, turning to his friend.

Bruce shook his head. "Of course. You're so blind. You just don't get it. You really don't get it."

"Get what?" Tony asked.

Bruce stood slowly. "Do you have any idea of how many lives I took as the other guy? How much destruction I caused? When I said I broke Harlem, I wasn't being flippant. I wrecked whole streets. Randomly . . . you know . . . the youngest person who died was a child, barely four years old. Kid was still strapped into the backseat. The car he was in got flipped over while I was fighting and . . ." His voice broke and he looked down at his trembling hands.

"That's not your fault," Tony said quietly.

"You know, I tell myself the same thing. Almost every day." Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets. "And yet, I still see their faces. You know, afterwards, I found out about every single victim. I made myself remember what the other guy did. I would stare at the photos for hours and hours, punishing myself for what the other guy did. I would wallow in the guilt and misery. That's why I went to India. Trying to make up for what he did. Trying to do some good to make up for all of the bad."

"Bruce," Tony said, taking a step towards him, but Bruce put up a hand to silence him.

"You know that I've become friends with Bucky. It's because through him, I've realized that I'm not responsible for what the other guy did. And now, you say that Bucky, a man who spent decades being tortured and having his mind wiped and contorted by power-hungry maniacs, is responsible for your parents' deaths. Then what about me? What about all the deaths that I caused when I ramaged through the city? How much blood is on my hands? How much of it is my fault?" His voice rose with every word.

Steve's eyes began to widen. The emotional turmoil and anger that Bruce was experiencing wasn't safe. He edged a bit closer, trying to get between Tony and Bruce, his senses on alert. If Bruce turned into the Hulk right there, he'd tear the laboratory apart. Without his Iron Man armor, the Hulk could easily rip Tony to pieces. Steve gritted his teeth as he calculated the best way to protect Tony.

"It's not the same," Tony said quietly.

"Not for you, maybe. But when those parents had to buy a child-sized coffin, do you think their grief felt any less than yours?" Bruce asked savagely as he began to shake.

Steve slowly took a few more steps between them, trying to be subtle, worried that any quick movements might trigger Bruce to transform. Despite his anger towards Tony, he didn't want him to get hurt. Steve was ready to do whatever he could to keep Tony safe from the Hulk.

"They were my parents," Tony said, his voice ragged.

"I know. But it wasn't Bucky who did that. He's just a victim. Used and abused by Hydra. They tortured him for decades. Twisted him inside out. Ravaged his mind and body. You can't blame him for what they did to him. It wasn't his fault. And it wasn't mine, either." With that, Bruce covered his face with his hands and sat down again, his entire body sagging in his chair as he tried to keep it together, as he tried not to cry.

Steve let out a small sigh of relief. The thought of Bruce transforming unwillingly had frightened him more than he cared to admit. Seeing Bruce's anger change into sorrow meant that they were safe.

Tony clenched his jaw. "Fine. Fine. He can stay." He was breathing heavily, his gruff voice strained. "But, I can't see him again. I can't be around him."

"Alright," Steve said gently, knowing that it was the best that he was going to get at the moment. "Okay. We can work with that. Thanks, Tony."

Tony looked at him, his eyes shiny with unwept tears. "You kept it from me, man. I thought . . . I thought we were friends. And then I find out, . . . ." and he just shook his head. "You, the one guy I thought would never lie, the one person I was sure I could trust . . . you just . . . you covered for Barnes for months."

Steve winced at that. "I am sorry, Tony. I wished I had handled it better."

Tony let out a snort of disgust and shook his head. "I doubt there was a good way to handle it."

Steve nodded. "I'll go tell Bucky."

Tony caught Steve's arm as he started to go. "I'm not kidding, Steve. He can stay in the Tower, but I'm not going to be able to stand seeing him."

"I understand," Steve said with a short nod.

00000

Steve called Bucky up with the good news, telling him he could come back, but warning him to keep out of Tony's way. When Bucky appeared in the lobby, the entire security force jumped to attention, but one call to Tony relieved the tension in the room. Bucky arrived at the apartment and quickly began cleaning and putting away his belongings. He tried to make it look as though he had never left, but a part of him felt relieved that it was out in the open. He was surprised at what a burden it had been to hide what The Winter Soldier had done to Tony's parents.

When Stacy and Monica came home that afternoon, Bucky and Steve sat them down and explained the situation. Stacy bit her lip to keep from crying and Monica hugged Bucky tightly, whispering, "You can't get rid of us that easily. We're family," fiercely in his ear. Bucky held on to her longer than strictly necessary, glad to have her in his corner.

The next few weeks were tense, to say the least. Everyone in the apartment got used to using JARVIS to keep tabs on Tony, to avoid any uncomfortable run-ins. Stacy was particularly jumpy, given that she had planned to have lunch with Pepper a week later. Luckily, Pepper got stuck in L.A. due to an emergency board meeting and dragged Tony out there for several days.

By early August, Steve was back out on assignment for S.H.I.E.L.D. with Tony, of all people, lending a hand. Steve had reported that Tony had been cordial, if distant, and it seemed as though they were able to at least focus on their mission together and to stow any personal problems between them for the interim. Bucky had felt anxious that Tony was out there, working with Steve when it should have been Bucky protecting his friend.

The past month, Bucky had done everything in his power to avoid Tony. Bruce had agreed to meet Bucky for lunches down at the cafe instead of at Steve's apartment, just to make things easier. Bruce had assured Bucky that Tony would eventually forgive him, but Bucky had his doubts.

Bucky sank into an easy rhythm with Stacy and Monica with Steve gone. He ran errands or cooked dinner for the women as they were out tutoring most of the day to pick up extra cash. He kept up with his therapy appointments, actually finding a strange relief in the fact that he was no longer keeping his secret from Tony. His therapist was encouraging about his progress and praised him for his perseverance. His nightmares had faded once again and he knew that he had the ability to try to calm himself when he felt stressed or triggered.

Bucky was feeling so good that he actually started to look around for a part-time job. Of course, his primary skill set as a highly trained sniper and assassin made finding temporary work a bit challenging, but he was confident that he'd be able to find something. While finding a job wasn't a pressing financial necessity given his military benefits, he wanted something to get him out of the apartment on a regular basis.

000000

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in first week of August. Bucky had gone to church with the women in the morning and had even helped out with the set-up crew, taking up Steve's old role of heavy lifting. He liked feeling useful and everyone there had been appreciative of the help. His job search hadn't been quite as fruitful as he had hoped and he considered spending more time volunteering at the church or the homeless shelter if he couldn't find work soon.

Bucky was sitting on the couch, watching an old movie while the women were chatting at the kitchen table. They had spread newspapers over the tabletop to protect the surface as they gave each other manicures. It was a relaxing way to wile away the afternoon, until it came to a screeching halt.

"No . . . no . . . no!" Monica began shouting frantically at her phone.

Bucky looked over the back of the couch at her, his brow knit, worried at her outburst.

"What's the matter?" Stacy asked.

"I just got an email from the school. The Mitchell twins aren't coming back in the fall. My class enrollment for the next semester just fell below the cut-off. They're splitting up my remaining students among the other third and fourth grade classes." Monica showed Stacy her phone, biting her lower lip.

Stacy scrolled through the screen and then set the phone on the table. "So that means . . ."

"I'm out of a job." Monica blew furiously on her nails to dry them.

"Oh, no."

"They're going to send me back to Spain," Monica said plaintively.

"Maybe . . . maybe we could have Tony talk to them. Or maybe he could get you a job at Stark Industries. You know, like he did for Josh," Stacy offered helpfully.

"Tony? After what he did to Bucky? Are you kidding me? I'd never go to him," Monica snarled.

Bucky couldn't help but smile. Monica had never fully trusted Tony, sniping that he used his money and influence to just wave problems away. When she found out that he had kicked Bucky out of the Tower, she had ranted for three days straight, muttering about Tony under her breath every chance she got. It made Bucky feel oddly glad to have her so staunchly on his side.

"Yeah, I can see that," Stacy said dejectedly.

Monica sighed. "You know, I was supposed to married by now. If I were married, I wouldn't be scrambling like this. I'd have a green card and all of this would be behind me. Every school year is the same. Will I have a job or not?"

"I know it's rough," Stacy said sympathetically. Monica's work visa was dependent on her having a job. Without one, she would be forced to return to Spain.

"It isn't fair. Look at you. Look at Erica. You guys found the men of your dreams and you're married now. I can't even score a second date."

"Well, that's because . . .," Stacy began, but shook her head.

"Because what?"

"It's nothing," Stacy said.

"No. Tell me," Monica insisted.

"Look, Erica knew Michael for years before they started dating. And I was friends with Steve for months. You meet a guy, talk for five minutes, and you're already setting up a date."

"I'm not marrying Josh," Monica snapped.

Bucky bit his lip, trying not to laugh. He couldn't imagine a more unlikely couple.

Stacy shook her head. "I'm not saying that. I'm just saying you need to get to know someone, really know them first."

"Well, I don't have time to 'really know someone'. I've got figure a way out of this and quick. I don't want to get sent back to Spain. Heck, maybe I'll just put an ad on Craigslist," Monica said.

"Craigslist?"

"Want to marry a gorgeous Spaniard? Just text this number," Monica said flippantly.

"You're kidding me, right? Please, tell me you're kidding me," Stacy deadpanned.

"Why not? Marriage of convenience. Strictly platonic. There's got to be some guy in all of New York City willing to marry me so that I can get my green card," Monica said excitedly.

"You're being ridiculous. This isn't some romantic comedy movie. You can't be serious," Stacy said.

"Why not? I don't want to get sent back home," Monica shot back.

"And who are you going to find to marry you? What guy is going to marry you out of the goodness of his heart?" Stacy asked, her voice rising with each word.

Bucky had been listening to the exchange, not really knowing what to say. He thought of all that Monica and Stacy had done for him over the last seven months. There seemed to be only one possible answer.

Bucky looked over the back of the couch and smiled at them both.

"Aw, hell, Monica. I'll marry you," he offered.


	27. Chapter 27

**Ch. 27**

"What did you say?" Monica asked, turning to look over at Bucky.

"I'll marry you," he repeated as he stood up from the couch and walked over to sit down at the table across from Monica. He gave her a wide, reassuring grin.

"Don't tease her, Bucky. We need to figure out a way to help Monica," Stacy said with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm being serious," Bucky declared.

"Really?" Monica asked and Bucky could practically see the hope spread across her face.

"Really." The truth was he had been half-joking until he saw that look on her face. There was no going back now. Even if he wanted to.

And the truth was, he didn't.

"You guys have got to be kidding," Stacy said, shaking her head.

"Why not? It's a great idea," Monica insisted.

"No. It's not a great idea. It's a horrible idea. This is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas," Stacy said.

"Just because you quote Jurassic Park doesn't make you right," Monica countered.

"It does in this instance."

"Well, do you have any other ideas?" Bucky asked Stacy. He didn't like the idea of Monica being forced into a marriage of convenience if there was another viable alternative. But, he had to agree with Monica. Given how dicey things were with Stark, it was better to steer clear of him.

"Maybe . . .," she rubbed her eyes, "we ask Steve. I'm sure he could think of something."

Bucky shook his head. "He's on a huge assignment and you know he's on radio silence for the next two weeks." What he left unsaid was that he was sure that Steve would be against the idea. Normally, Bucky would have sided with his friend without a doubt, but in this, his gut told him to step up and help Monica any way he could. Monica had been there for him, time and time again. This was the least he could do.

The thought of her being sent back to Spain . . . well, that just wasn't an option.

"I can't wait two weeks," Monica implored, the anxiety coming off of her in waves.

"Well . . . how about we go to Director Fury?" Stacy suggested. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has tons of resources."

"Look . . . I know Steve loves his job and all, but I really don't want to be in that man's debt," Monica replied.

"He's not that bad. He's helped Steve out a lot," Stacy said.

"But, he's also lied to Steve. And caged Bucky up . . . traumatized him so bad that he couldn't speak for weeks afterwards . . . and had Bucky's therapist lie to him . . ." Monica pointed out, ticking off the reasons on her fingers.

Bucky nodded. While Fury had his good points, Bucky still felt wary of him. He remembered spiraling so badly after being in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody. It wouldn't surprise him if Fury had encouraged his counselor to lie to Bucky. Fury always seemed to have his own secret agenda that you never quite found out until it was too late. Having Monica indebted to Fury made Bucky feel uneasy.

"Alright, but still . . . getting married like this . . . it's just not right," Stacy said.

"Why not?" Monica asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

"It's dishonest," Stacy said. "You're breaking the law. You could get in big trouble, Monica. You and Bucky both."

"Dishonest?" Monica scoffed. "This from the woman who stalked her current husband for months under the guise of 'accidently' running into him?"

Bucky bit his lip to keep from laughing. He remembered Steve telling him the whole story about Stacy pretending that their first meeting was just a coincidence instead of a highly orchestrated event. He had to hand it to Monica, she had a point.

Stacy blushed and looked down. "That was different. I didn't have any other choice," she said quickly.

"It was for the same, exact reason. So that I wouldn't get sent back to Spain," Monica said almost gently as she took her friend's hand and gave it a slight squeeze, looking her in the eyes. "Look, I know this isn't a wonderful option, but it's really our only one at the moment."

"And I'm willing to take the risk, if Monica is," Bucky added. He knew that he needed to convince Stacy or Monica would never go through with it.

Stacy turned to him. "Are you, Bucky? It's illegal."

There was a sweet innocence in the earnest question that tugged at Bucky's heart. After all she had been through, Stacy was worried about Bucky getting in trouble for doing something that was against the law. The truth was committing marriage fraud against the Immigration and Naturalization Service would be the least of his crimes. After all of the death and destruction he'd caused, he hardly worried about going up against a bunch of bureaucrats over a legal technicality.***

"After all you guys have done for me, it's nothing. I'll do it gladly," Bucky said firmly. His mind kept replaying the days and weeks both women had taken care of him when he was buried so deep in misery and grief that he couldn't even leave his room. Standing up in front of a judge and reciting a few words seemed like such a little thing to do to help them out.

Monica turned to Bucky, her face softened. "Thank you. It really means a lot to me. You're a wonderful friend."

Bucky nodded, not really knowing what to say. Getting married to Monica hardly seemed like a sacrifice. They already lived together, ate together, and spent most of their free time together. He couldn't see as how saying "I do" would make much of a difference.

Stacy looked at the both of them and then rolled her eyes. "Okay. Fine. I'm in. So, how's this supposed to work? I mean, what if two, three months down the road you meet a guy, Monica? How are you going to explain about already being married?"

Monica's smile widened. Bucky could tell that she knew that Stacy was on board with the plan. "After all the problems with Chase and Sam, and all the guys in between, I'm done with men at the moment. I'm taking a break."

"Okay . . . well, what about Bucky? What if he finds someone?" Stacy asked, gesturing towards him.

"That isn't likely," Bucky said, shaking his head slightly. Even with as much progress as he'd made, he still couldn't think of trying to start up a romantic relationship. There was still so much brokenness and raw pain that he dealt with on a daily basis. He couldn't imagine subjecting some woman to all of the problems he was still grappling with. He needed time; he needed to get himself together first and then, maybe some time down the road, he could find someone who could make peace with his past and what he'd done. First, he needed to be able to do that himself.

"And anyhow, if Bucky does find someone, we'll just get it annulled. I mean, since we're just friends and we're doing this completely platonically, the marriage won't be . . .," and Monica began to blush and look down at her nails, " . . . um . . . consummated, so we'll just get an annulment. But in the meantime, I'll have a few months breathing room to find another job and get another work visa."

_Just friends. Completely platonically._  Bucky swallowed, shifting a bit in his seat. He already knew that was what Monica thought of them. If he were asked, he would probably say the same thing. And yet . . . . somehow, hearing the words was harder than he'd imagined them to be. But, he was determined to respect her wishes.

It really was for the best that way after all, wasn't it?

000000

After the decision had been made, Stacy and Monica started getting everything ready, opening up Stacy's laptop and bringing up the New York City Clerk's website to get all of the wedding details in order. Stacy obviously knew the process fairly well, but she had wanted to double check that there hadn't been any changes to the rules in the past year. The first step was going on-line and filling out a marriage license. Then, the next morning, on Monday, Bucky and Monica needed to go down to the City Clerk's office and pay the fee for the license and complete the application process in person. Once the license was processed, they could get married in front of a judge after waiting twenty-four hours. So, if all went well, Bucky would be a married man by Tuesday morning.

He helped Stacy and Monica fill out the on-line form, his nerves jangling a bit. Now that they were actually filing the legal paperwork, it all seemed that much more real. Monica kept looking over at him and giving him a big grin, which he forced himself to return.

The next morning, Bucky got up early, but he was surprised that he was the last one up in the apartment. He smiled as the smell of pancakes and strong coffee hit him as he walked towards the kitchen.

"Fresh pancakes?" he asked as he yawned a bit and stretched, scratching the back of his head.

"Just a way to say thank you," Monica said, turning off the burner and stacking the last pancake onto a plate. There were two plates on the counter that held three pancakes each and a third that had an even dozen.

Bucky grinned. He knew which one was his.

"Hey, it's nothing," he reassured Monica as he picked up the plates and set them on the kitchen table to help out.

"No. It's not nothing. I can't tell you what it means to me," she said firmly. She walked over and enveloped him in a warm hug, squeezing tightly.

"Well, it's my pleasure," he said when he reluctantly let go. "Although I have to admit, the pancakes are a nice touch."

"The City Clerk's office opens at 8:30," Stacy reminded them as she poured them all coffee and sat down with them. "You don't want to be late. Sometimes, there's a line."

"Are you coming, too?" Bucky asked. He poured syrup over his stack and he could feel his mouth water in anticipation.

"No. Usually just the bride and groom finalize the application. It'll look odd if I'm there. But, I'll be there tomorrow, since you'll need a witness to get married in front of a judge," Stacy explained.

Bucky felt a bit bad about roping Stacy into the deception, but she seemed to have made her peace with it. He made short work of his breakfast and insisted on doing the morning's dishes. As much as Monica wanted to pamper him for helping her out, he knew deep down how much he owed her for all she had done for him in the past months.

000000

Bucky and Monica made it to the City Clerk's office early. There was only one couple in front of them staring dreamily into each other's eyes, holding hands and swinging them back and forth. As the couple in front of them kissed, Bucky looked down at the ground, scratching the back of his neck. Normally, something like that wouldn't bother him, but it made him wonder how they were going to convince people that they were legitimately married.

"Don't worry," Monica whispered in his ear, her hot breath on his neck. She took his right hand and gave it a squeeze, winking at the same time.

"Next," the clerk called out after the first couple had been helped. The clerk was in her mid-fifties, her red hair swept back in a severe bun. She peered over a pair of reading glasses and gave them a friendly smile.

"We're here about applying for a marriage license," Monica said, flashing a nervous smile. "We already started the process on-line yesterday."

"Alright. Let me look you up," the clerk replied, her fingers dancing over the keyboard.

Bucky idly looked around the office while Monica and the clerk started to go over the application. He was anxious and just wanted it to be over with. He bit his lip when he remembered Steve lying again and again on his enlistment forms in his failed attempts to get into the army. He guessed that sometimes you had to bend the rules to do what was right.

"There seems to be some mistake," the clerk looked up at them, giving them a wide, friendly grin. "Right here, for his date of birth. It says 1917."

"Uh . . . yeah. That's correct." Bucky gritted his teeth. He knew this part was going to be rough.

"So you're over ninety years old?" the clerk scoffed as she looked Bucky over. "Lead me to your plastic surgeon," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"His best friend from childhood is Steve Rogers. You know, Captain America, who saved this city from destruction? You can see by the address on his driver's license that Bucky lives in the same apartment as Steve Rogers and his wife. You're talking to a war hero here. He served his country in World War II, going on raids with Captain America. You can plainly see that he was injured in the line of duty," Monica waved to his arm. "And all his documentation is in order," Monica pointed out, her eyes narrowed at the clerk's light-hearted disbelief. Monica then grabbed her phone from her purse and thrust it in front of the clerk, on the screen was a photo of Bucky and Steve smiling together.

"See . . . Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes," Monica said, pointing to the two men.

"Oh my . . . I didn't think . . . the name did seem familiar . . . so were you frozen, too?" the clerk said, looking over at Bucky and straightening a bit.

"Something like that," he mumbled. He didn't want to get into the details.

"It's classified," Monica said tartly. "Can you just issue the license?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect. It's just an unusual case is all," the clerk said, fumbling over her words.

"That's fine," Bucky said smoothly, earning him a relieved smile from the clerk. The rest of the process went smoothly and they were done well before nine.

"You were laying it on a bit thick there," he observed once they were out of earshot from the clerk.

"Really? When?" Monica asked.

"War hero?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah. Well, that's what you are, you know. Deep down, that's who you always were. Sometimes, I think you forget that."

Bucky cocked his head to the side, constantly amazed by her faith in him. "I guess you're right."

After giving him a quick hug good-bye, Monica left to go meet Erica and Stacy. They were all going to a store to help Erica finish up her baby registry. Bucky smiled when he thought of her and Michael starting a family together. It made him a bit nostalgic for the time that Daniella and Mateo had come to visit earlier that summer. It had felt good to play the part of an uncle, if only for a week. He couldn't imagine what it'd be like to be a dad. He envied Michael. He had a loving, devoted wife, a child on the way, and was doing work he was passionate about.

In contrast, Bucky sometimes felt like he was treading water, just grateful he was no longer drowning.

00000

Bucky ran a few errands and then met Bruce at their favorite diner for their regular Monday lunch. Given how prickly Tony was at the moment, they had decided to have lunch out for the time being, at least until things settled down. Bucky didn't mind so much. The burgers were fantastic and the portions were massive. And, it was always good to have an excuse to get out of the apartment after all of the months he'd spent cooped up inside.

Once their food arrived, Bucky decided to ask a question he'd been avoiding for weeks. "So, how're things with Betty?"

"Good and bad." Bruce shrugged, squirting ketchup on his fries. "Good for me, not so good for her."

"How so?"

"There's a lot of political in-fighting at her job. A lot more than she thought there was at first glance. Half the department loathes the other half and she's caught in the middle."

"And that's good for you . . . how?" Bucky took the first bite of his cheeseburger and nearly signed in enjoyment.

"She's fed up with all the petty manipulation and political maneuvering. I think she's going to take Tony's offer of coming here in the fall instead of staying where she's at."

"Really?" Bucky asked. Once again, Tony was there to save the day, providing a job for Betty so that she could continue her research. He wished that there was some way to smooth things over between them, but Bucky took Steve's warning to heart. He did everything he could to avoid Tony in order not to antagonise him.

"I mean, I'm glad that she's coming here, don't get me wrong, but I feel bad about the circumstances. She thought that academia was going to be a safe haven where she could just focus on research and teaching and she's found that she couldn't be more wrong. She told me that she spent more time on committee and department meetings than on research this past year and she's just fed up."

"So, you'll get to work together?" Bucky asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Bruce said, grinning from ear to ear. "She'll be here in a couple of weeks."

"That's great news." Bucky paused and a part of him wanted to tell Bruce about Monica and getting married the next morning, but he held back. Monica had impressed upon him how important it was not to tell anyone until after they were married. She wasn't going to tell Erica, despite how close they were. Bucky was sure that Steve was going to be sore that they did it while he was gone, but he knew how much it meant to Monica and he didn't want to let her down.

Instead, he just took another bite of his burger and smiled.

00000

After finishing his lunch with Bruce, Bucky went back to the apartment and turned his attention back to his own job hunt. It had been more discouraging than he wanted to admit. And while it wasn't a pressing financial concern, it would be nice to have some type of regular work.

Bucky shook his head as he thought about how difficult his job search had been. If Monica thought she'd be able to find a teaching position with a school willing to help her through the work visa process in just a few months, she was being overly optimistic. Bucky supposed he could point that out to her, the fact that they would probably have to stay married far longer than the few months that she had anticipated. However, something held him back. She was an adult after all, and he reasoned that she'd figure it out eventually.

* * *

**Author's Notes** - Oh my! You all have left the most kind reviews!  Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart.

***Just to be clear, I don't advocate breaking any laws at all. This is just a plot device for a story.

\-----

 As you all know, I am a big fan of the "slow burn" in romance. If you'd like to read something a bit quicker, or if you'd just like to pass the time until the next update, you can check out my Steve Rogers/OC story, " **Information"**. It's complete and I really think you might like it. Let me know if you get a chance to check it out!


	28. Chapter 28

Once again, Bucky is going to have a fairly horrific nightmare. If you'd like to avoid reading it, please skip the italicized section.

**Ch. 28**

After several hours of job searching, Bucky gave up in frustration, closing Monica's laptop and getting up from the kitchen table.  _That'll be community property soon_ , he thought wryly. He had thought of buying a laptop of his own, but Monica hardly used hers and said he could use her computer whenever he wanted. Like Stacy, Monica seemed to do most of her web surfing on her phone and primarily used her laptop for work.

Bucky walked over to the couch in the living room and sat down at one corner, his right arm resting along the back of the couch as he turned on a police procedural drama on T.V. He smiled faintly as he watched a car chase began. The speakers reverberated with the sounds of one explosion and crash after another. Months ago, seeing something like that would have sent him into a blind panic, bringing back painful, gut-wrenching memories. Now, he could just sit back and enjoy the show.

He was starting to get into the show and was beginning to guess as to who the thief was when he heard the apartment door open. He looked up as Stacy and Monica entered the apartment, laughing and smiling. Stacy sat down on the easy chair and Monica took the opposite end of the couch as they piled a bunch of store bags on the coffee table.

"How did it go?" Bucky asked.

"Good. Erica has a lot of nieces and nephews, so she's getting a ton of hand-me-downs. Clothes, bibs, socks, shoes . . . The nice thing is that she can just focus on getting a few of the bigger ticket items like a car seat or a crib. That baby store was overwhelming, though. It's just eye-opening how many things you can buy for infants," Monica said, waving over to their purchases.

"Yeah. I remember when Amanda was pregnant with Mateo. I went to her baby shower and saw things I couldn't even imagine," Stacy said.

"It was hard . . . not telling Erica about tomorrow," Monica admitted.

"I know. I know. Bruce and I had lunch and it was all I could do not to say anything," Bucky said.

"Well, after tomorrow morning, we can tell the world," Monica said.

"Speaking of that . . . are you guys sure that you can pull off pretending to be a married couple?" Stacy asked.

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked.

"Um . . . I mean in public. You'll have to . . . you know . . . um . . . hold hands, be affectionate . . . kiss," Stacy explained.

"I'm sure we'll be able to fake it," Bucky replied with a cocky grin. That part of the plan didn't seem so bad at all, truth be told.

"Yeah. See," Monica said, scooching down the couch to sit right next to Bucky, her thigh flush against his, her head resting on his shoulder. Bucky put his right arm around her, caressing her bare arm lightly, and looked over at her. He tried to avoid staring at her long legs clad in a pair of red shorts as a grin spread across his face. This part of the plan was definitely his favorite.

Monica gave him a wide smile back. "No one would guess that we were only friends."

 _Only friends_. Again, there was that phrase. Bucky forced himself to keep a smile on his face, trying not to give a hint at how that bothered him. Monica was just being honest with him, letting him know the rules of the game. However affectionate she acted towards him in public, it was all just going to be a ploy, just a deception to sell them as a married couple.

000000

The rest of the evening flew by. Monica insisted on making dinner and it made Bucky feel more than a little uneasy. They usually just rotated when Steve was away, each of them taking two nights a week and ordering out for the seventh night. It was Bucky's turn to cook, but Monica hustled to the kitchen before he got a chance.

"You didn't need to do all this," he protested as he sat down a few hours later to an elaborate dinner.

"Nonsense. I just wanted to show my appreciation," Monica said.

"I'll get the dishes," Stacy offered. "Thanks again for cooking."

"It's nothing. Really. It's my pleasure."

Bucky looked over at Monica, taking a deep breath. He hoped she wouldn't be like this the entire time they were married. He appreciated the thoughtfulness, but her kindness felt like he was the one taking advantage of her. All he had to do is mumble a few words and sign a couple of documents and, in exchange, she was falling over herself to take care of him.

"Monica, you can't keep on like this. Yeah, I might be doing you a favor, but you've still done a lot more for me than I've ever done for you," he insisted. She was sitting across from him, putting a napkin on her lap.

"Bucky . . . you just don't get how much this means to me. You gave me hope when I had none. There's nothing I could do that could ever make up for that," she said firmly, giving him a smile. "Now, eat up. I'm making chocolate cake for dessert."

Bucky knew better than to argue with Monica when she had that determined look on her face. He just hoped that things went smoothly.

000000

Unfortunately for him, that night, his nightmares returned with a vengeance.

_Bucky was pacing in a small beige room, agitated and apprehensive. He didn't know why he was so anxious, but his hands trembled from nerves. The door swung open and there was Steve in a tux, a huge grin on this face. "It's the big day, Bucky. You ready?"_

" _I . . . I guess so," Bucky sputtered, feeling completely lost._

_Steve beamed and waved him out of the room. Bucky followed him down a corridor and out a door. He took a deep breath as he looked around himself. They were coming in the side entrance of the church that they had gone to back in the 40s, the one they had grown up in. The minister from his childhood stood on the raised dais, a benevolent smile on his creased face. Bucky blinked. His minister had been dead for at least half a century. Something was wrong. Something felt off._

_The church organist began the first few strains of "Here Comes the Bride". Bucky squinted at the diminutive older woman, his childhood fascination with the cinnamon cookies that she brought to church luncheons coming back in full force. He shook his head. It was 2015, not 1944. She should be long dead._

_Steve waved him over and Bucky took his place beside him, staring down the aisle as the large doors swung open to reveal Stacy. She waltzed down the aisle in a long emerald bridesmaid dress, her hair in an elaborate braided updo. She beamed at Bucky and Steve as she came closer. "It's your big day," she said to him as she took her place opposite Steve._

_Bucky looked out at the crowd in the pews before him. He recognized people from back when he was a kid, the grocer, the butcher, the man who sold newspapers on the corner. They were all supposed to be dead. All dead. Why were they there?_

_Even worse, he began to recognize other faces in the congregation before him. The faces of his past victims from when he was the Winter Soldier. All staring at him in blank disapproval. A scientist. A foreign agent. A diplomat._

_Howard and Maria Stark._

_Bucky wanted to scream, but he had no voice. He wanted to run, but he couldn't move._

_And then, Monica began to come down the aisle, walking towards him as she clutched a bouquet of white lilies. She was a vision in taffeta, her smile lighting up the entire sanctuary._

_When she arrived in front of him, she gave him a wink. "It's our big day."_

_He wanted to say something. Tell her that something was wrong. But no words came. He was powerless._

_Then, without warning, a shot rang out and Monica's eyes went wide as she dropped her bouquet. A bloom of red began to spread across her chest, soaking her bodice. Bucky finally found his voice as he screamed "No!" He rushed to grab her and ended up on the ground, cradling her on his lap, frantically applying pressure to the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding._

_He forced himself to look up, knowing exactly what he was going to see. The Winter Soldier looked down on him, shaking his head. "You thought I was going to miss your big day, buddy? Not a chance. I told you, Bucky, long ago. I'm going to destroy everything. You never had a chance. I'm never going away. Might as well just give up now. It's all over."_

" _B . . . . Bucky? Why? Why did you do this to me? Why?" Monica sobbed, her breath coming out in strangled pants as Bucky held her tight._

_A few seconds later, her eyes closed and she was still._

00000

Bucky sat straight up in his bed, sweating and gasping for air. His body was shaking as his mind replayed the dream. He closed his eyes as he tried to calm himself and start the process of redirecting the nightmare like his therapist taught him.

He just needed think of a happy ending to his nightmare, change the horror to bliss.

His eyes flew open.

He couldn't do it.

What would a happy ending be to that dream? Him and Monica, properly married, really husband and wife in every sense of the word? Getting to take her in his arms? Spending the rest of their lives together?

He knew that Monica wasn't interested in him. They'd lived together for months now. The thought of fantasizing about marrying her for real felt like a kind of betrayal to her. She had been a kind and loyal friend and she was trusting him with one of the biggest decisions of her life. It felt wrong to try and make it out as something that it wasn't.

He decided to just listen to some music instead to distract himself. As he grabbed his phone and earbuds, he smiled. Every song on his phone had been downloaded by Monica. Each one reminded him of her. There was no way to escape her.

Not that he really wanted to.

000000

The next morning, Bucky got showered and dressed quickly, putting on the gray suit he had worn at Easter. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he faltered as he did his tie. The nightmare from the night before felt like a premonition. The tie around his neck felt like a noose.  _There's still time to back out_ , he thought.  _We can always find another way to figure out Monica's visa problems._

He walked out of his room, ready to have a serious conversation with Monica.

And then he saw her.

She emerged from the bathroom with Stacy trailing behind, still fiddling with Monica's hair. It was set in the soft curls that Bucky liked, the way she always wore her hair for special occasions.

"I know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, but that only counts if it's a real wedding, so we're fine," Monica said. She gave Bucky a tentative smile. "Stacy let me borrow it," she said, waving to her dress. "It's a bit snug, but it beats buying one." She wriggled in the gown a bit, obviously a little self-conscious.

"Nonsense. You look beautiful. Bucky, doesn't she look beautiful?" Stacy asked pointedly.

Bucky squinted at the 1940s-inspired dress, recognizing it from Steve's wedding photos. It was obviously made for Stacy, not Monica. It hit Monica at mid-calf instead of brushing the ground. The material was stretched tight across her hips and chest, not that Bucky minded. In fact, he could feel his pulse race just looking at her and he forced himself to look down to avoid leering at the way the gown hugged her every curve.

"Like a million bucks," he said.

He wasn't backing out.

00000

"It's your last chance," Monica whispered into his ear.

They were waiting at City Hall for their number to flash on the screen. It reminded Bucky a bit of the DMV. They had checked in when they had arrived and were given a number on a small ticket. Once their number was called, they would go into a small chamber with a civil officiant and get hitched.

All around them were couples about to get married. They ran the gamut. Some looked like they were barely 18. Some couples looked like they were in their seventies. Some were wearing street clothes. Some had full bridal parties, all in elegant formal wear. Some looked almost bored as they waited and others were anxious, biting their lips and pacing about.

"Last chance to what?" Bucky asked. They were seated side by side on a hard bench, Stacy pacing in front of the screen that would display their number. They had been waiting the better part of an hour, but it looked like their number would be called soon.

"To change your mind. I'd understand. Really I would. It's a big favor. It's huge. And I know you think you owe me something, but you don't. I'm your friend. Being there for you these past few months . . . it's been my privilege. I don't want you to feel like you have to do this. I could always . . . I could try and figure something else out," she said.

"Well, then, let this be my privilege," he replied. "Let me do something for you for a change."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "You're the best. You know that, right?"

"Right back at ya."

"Looks like you're up," Stacy said, waving to the screen.

"Here we go," Bucky said as they stood, taking Monica's hand to help her up. He opened the door to the small wedding chamber and there was a kindly older woman in a burgundy business suit at one end of the room behind a podium. Her silver hair was piled on top of her head and she was wearing a pair of reading glasses on a gold chain. "C234?" she asked as they approached.

Monica looked down at the piece of paper in her hand and nodded and they both walked arm in arm down the length of the room to her, Stacy trailing behind.

"Just the one witness?" the officiant asked, waving towards Stacy. Stacy had her phone in her hand to document the whole thing. Monica thought her parents would like to see it and they could always use the video for proof for INS.

"Yes," Monica replied.

"Alright. Are you ready?"

They both nodded.

"We are gathered here today to witness the exchanging of marriage vows between James and Monica," the official began as she read from a printed page, a slight smile playing on her lips.

Bucky grimaced at hearing his first name. Only his mother ever called him James and only when she was sore at him.

"Is there anyone here present who knows any lawful reason why James and Monica cannot be joined in marriage? If so, please speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Bucky could feel Monica tense beside him. He could tell that she was gripping onto his left arm for dear life. Although it was a standard question, used at every wedding ceremony, for them, it was fraught with meaning.

After a short pause, the officiant looked back down at the paper, pushing up her glasses with one finger. "Please face each other and join hands."

They stood facing each other, lightly holding each other's hands. The gratitude on Monica's face was evident and Bucky felt bad. She'd been there for him time and time again. He should be the grateful one.

"James, do you take Monica as your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward?"

Bucky took a deep breath. "I do."

"Do you promise to love and honor her as long as you both may live?"

Bucky paused. He didn't mean to. But he did. He bit down on the inside of his lip to snap himself out of it. "I do."

"As a symbol of your promise to love Monica, please place the ring on her finger."

Bucky's eyes widened for a moment.  _A ring._  He hadn't even thought of a ring.

"Oh. Sorry," Stacy said as she fished around in her purse and then put two silver bands on the podium, one next to Bucky and one next to Monica.

Bucky took the ring and slipped it onto Monica's left hand.

The officiant then turned towards Monica. "Monica, do you take James as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward?"

"I do."

"Do you promise to love and honor him as long as you both may live?"

"I do." She didn't pause. She didn't hesitate. She looked him straight in the eyes and swore that she would love him for the rest of her life. Bucky struggled to keep his expression neutral as she lied to his face.  _You knew this coming in, buddy,_  he thought.  _It's all an act. Just play your part._

"As a symbol of your promise to love James, please place the ring on his finger."

She took the ring as instructed and slipped it onto the ring finger of his left hand. Unfortunately, it was his metal hand and it easily slid off when he moved his hand. He caught it before it hit the ground and put it back on, curling his fingers into a fist so that it wouldn't fall again.

"Sorry," Monica softly whispered.

"Don't worry about it," he said reassuringly.

"You may seal your vows with a kiss."

Monica squeezed his hand, and leaned in, giving him a little wink as he responded in kind. He closed his eyes and for a moment, he focused on the sensation of his lips against hers, the feeling of her hand in his, the lilac smell of her perfume.

It wasn't his first kiss. Not by a long shot. He'd been a certified ladies' man in his time, wooing his fair share of lovely women all through the five boroughs of New York.

But this was different. This was Monica. This was a kiss with someone he cared about and trusted like he had never for any other woman before. This meant something. What that something was, he wasn't quite sure.

It was his first kiss in over seventy years and it ended far too soon.

Monica pulled away after a few seconds, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks. She laced her fingers in his and smiled brightly at him.

"Mr. and Mrs. Barnes? Congratulations!" the official beamed. "I wish you the best of luck in the future."

They turned to the official and thanked her. She had Stacy sign on the marriage license as the witness. Stacy hugged the both of them tightly, tears in her eyes.

"I love you guys. I don't mean to be so emotional," she said, fishing a tissue out of her purse.

Then Monica and Bucky walked out of the chamber holding hands, Monica leaning against him, a huge smile on her face.

"Thank you, my knight in shining armor," she said as they left the room.

Bucky gave her a half-hearted smile as his insides twisted inside. He felt nauseous. Two days ago, the thought of being married to Monica would have seemed like a joke. And now, they were hand in hand, starting a charade that was going to last for months.

What had he gotten himself into?

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Ch. 29**

Monica turned to Bucky, giving him a fierce hug. "You'd better get going. You don't want to miss your therapist appointment."

Bucky looked down at his phone, wincing at the time. If he left right then, he'd just make it. "Yeah. I'd better go."

"See you tonight?" Monica asked.

"Yeah. And I'm making the dinner," he said firmly, nearly growling. He wanted to set the tone for this partnership as soon as possible.

"Okay. Okay," Monica said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "You win."

"Always," he said with a wink.

00000

As the elevator descended to S.H.I.E.L.D. base offices, Bucky looked down at his hand with a sigh. He deposited his wedding ring into his suit jacket pocket. It wasn't going to stay on anyhow, not unless he welded it on. Maybe he'd just wear it on a chain around his neck.

As doors opened to the elevator, a fresh-faced agent scampered towards him, looking far too young to be able to shave, much less be an operative.

"Sergeant Barnes?" the young man asked with a smile.

"Uh . . . yeah," Bucky replied suspiciously as he stepped out of the elevator. The kid looked somewhat familiar, but Bucky couldn't quite place him.

"I'm Agent Montero. I met you on your first day here," the man supplied.

"Oh . . . yeah. Nice to see you again," Bucky said half-heartedly. The name felt familiar and the more he thought about it, he seemed to remember that Steve had worked with the agent's mother.

"So . . . Director Fury told me to be on the lookout for you. He wants you in his office ASAP."

Bucky blanched. "Is Steve okay? Is there something wrong with his mission?"

The young man's eyes went wide. "I don't . . . I don't think so. There haven't been any reports of any incidents. You understand, I can't give you any specifics since you aren't an agent, but . . . no, I don't think that's it."

"Okay," Bucky said, the tension melting from his body. "Um . . . fine. I'll go to Fury's office. I know the way," he said pointedly.

"Alright," the agent said with a nod as he walked back to his desk.

Bucky squared his shoulders. It felt a bit like being sent to the principal's office. For a moment, he wondered if his therapist had reported him for his outburst a few weeks earlier about the placebos. It seemed odd, though, that Fury would have waited so long to chew him out. Maybe they were going to try to interrogate him once again about Hydra. He'd told his therapist everything he could think of, but perhaps they weren't convinced he had given them the whole truth.

Bucky opened the door to Fury's office. Fury stood up from the chair behind his desk, giving him a wide smile.

The type of smile that set Bucky's teeth on edge.

Something was off.

"Well, don't you look nice?" Fury commented, waving at Bucky's suit.

Bucky fidgeted a bit. They had to wait longer than Bucky had anticipated to get married that morning and he hadn't had time to go back to the apartment to change before his meeting with his counselor.

"I . . . I had an appointment this morning," Bucky stammered.

"An appointment? That's one way of putting it. I hear congratulations are in order," Fury said.

Bucky grimaced. Of course Fury knew. He probably had an agent on him at all times. So much for keeping it under wraps.

"Thanks . . ., sir," Bucky said. The hairs on the back of Bucky's neck stood up. He didn't like Fury knowing about him and Monica, especially so soon.

"Awfully convenient, you falling so madly in love with your roommate so that you end up getting married just when she's about to lose her work visa," Fury observed sardonically, walking around to the front of his desk.

"What are you saying, sir?" Bucky asked. He could feel every muscle in his body tense.

"INS isn't as stupid as you think. How long is it going to take for them to figure out your little scheme? And then, that roommate of yours really will be deported. You could face jail time," Fury said, crossing his arms and leaning back to sit on his desk. "Not your smartest move, Sergeant Barnes."

"I see. Are you going to inform on us?" Bucky asked, clenching his fists, forcing himself to keep his tone even.

Fury shook his head. "No. In fact, S.H.I.E.L.D. could intervene for you. Provide protection if need be. Ensure that this little marriage scam never gets revealed. Let your friend stay in the country. We have finally built up a bit of goodwill with other agencies," Fury offered.

"In exchange for what?" he asked. Bucky knew coercion when he heard it. He could practically feel the trap closing in on him.

"We could really use an agent with your talents. Think of it. You could work with Agent Rogers again, just like the good old days," Fury said.

Bucky's heart sank. Going back into the field as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was the last thing he wanted. But, then he thought of Monica and all that she had done for him in the past seven months. He couldn't refuse.

He swallowed hard. "Okay. When do I start?"

"Today. I've already put in all the paperwork. Report to training room six. Welcome aboard, Agent Barnes," Fury held out his hand and Bucky stepped forward and shook it stiffly.

 _At least I don't have to worry about finding a job_ , Bucky thought grimly as he left Fury's office.

00000

He gritted his teeth and made it through the training sessions, doing his best to hold on to his anger and not take it out on his instructor or his fellow recruits. Once he was dismissed, he stormed over to his therapist's office, flinging open the door. She was seated behind her desk, typing at her computer. She didn't look at all surprised that he was there.

"You cleared me. For active duty. And I bet you told Fury that I wasn't in love with Monica . . . that whole wedding was just an immigration scam?" he snarled as he crossed the room.

"No. I didn't clear you. I protested the director's decision to have you become an agent," she said in a calm, firm voice. "And I didn't tell him anything about you and your roommate. He never asked. The timing was evidence enough." She gave him a sad smile. "I only have so much power. If the director chooses to ignore my recommendations . . .," she trailed off with a small shrug.

"How am I going to make it out there? In the field? I'm going to freeze up. People are going to die," Bucky said.

"You have no idea how far you have come in that last seven months. It isn't going to be easy. But I have faith that despite everything, you're going to make it."

"I hope you're right," Bucky said hollowly, his words lacking conviction.

00000

"How'd your appointment go?" Monica asked as he walked in the door late that afternoon. She had changed into a pair of shorts and a loose tanktop, but his mind went back to how she had looked that morning.

Like his bride.

He had ignored most of her texts that day, finally replying that he'd be home around in the early evening to start dinner. He had been antsy all day, dreading coming home.

"Fine," he muttered. He paused for a second. He knew he had to tell them about becoming an agent, but he couldn't let Monica know that it was because of her. She'd feel horrible and he'd never put her through that. "I . . . I finally got a job."

"That's great!"

She beamed at him and he chewed the inside of his lip and looked away. He couldn't face her and lie.

"Yeah. I . . . I actually talked to Director Fury. He offered me a position. I'll be an agent. Like Steve. We'll get to work together again," he said, as he walked to the kitchen and began pulling out food from the fridge to start dinner. He tried to busy himself by getting out all the ingredients he'd need, trying to sound hopeful.

"Wait. An agent? Bucky . . . are you sure you're up to that?" Monica asked, her voice filled with concern as she followed him.

"Yeah, sure," he lied. "The doc cleared me and everything. Me and Steve out in the field again. Just like old times."

"Oh," Monica said. "Well, I guess I should say congratulations. Um . . . Stacy won't be home until later."

"She won't?"

Monica shook her head. "No. She finally took your advice. She went to go talk to a counselor. About the nightmares. About her worries about Steve getting hurt. I think him going after Hydra again and being gone so often just brought a lot of it up."

Bucky nodded. He'd noticed that Stacy had seemed restless lately and not being able to contact Steve had put even more of a strain on her.

"So, it's just you and me," Monica said.

"Okay," Bucky said flatly. "Um . . . I'll probably go out after dinner." Somehow, being alone with Monica was more than he could handle. He didn't know if he could keep up hours of pretending that he chose to become a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative. She knew him too well. She'd suss out what really happened and he wanted to protect her from that.

"Where to?" she asked brightly.

"I don't know. I just . . . I just want some time to think." It came out more curtly than he intended.

"Uh," she said and Bucky could hear the hurt in her voice. He winced. A part of him wanted to tell her she could come along, but he resisted.

"Let me get dinner started," he said and with that, he opened up the package of hamburger meat.

 _Not much of a wedding dinner_ , he thought wryly as he turned on the stove.

00000000

Picking up girls was a lot easier than Bucky remembered. Back in the forties, there were flowers and dinner and dancing and if you were really, really lucky, a kiss at the end of the night. But there he was, less than fifteen minutes after meeting a girl, walking down the street arm in arm, heading for her apartment to spend the night together.

He wasn't completely sure what drove him to go out and walk that evening. Maybe it was his anger at being forced into working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Maybe it was the realization that he had just gotten himself stuck in a sham marriage for the foreseeable future. He didn't mind helping Monica out, he was actually glad to, but for some reason, it made him feel lonelier than ever.

And if she used the word " _friend"_  or " _platonic"_ one more time, he was going to lose it.

Right after dinner, he changed and said goodbye to Monica, nearly racing out of the apartment, taking the steps two at a time down to the lobby. He walked for hours throughout the city and it reminded him of before, the time he was homeless and had nothing and he roamed the streets at night. He finally found a bar that Stacy had mentioned before, where she and Steve and their friends would dance to swing music. He walked inside, deciding to order a drink, more for nostalgia's sake than anything else.

He sat down on one end of the bar and ordered a Scotch, neat. He looked around. It was one of those middle of the road places, not a dive, but not too glitzy, either. On the other end of the bar, he spotted a petite blonde in her mid-twenties, looking rather melancholy as she sipped a drink that looked like it had more fruit than alcohol in it. She caught his eye and flashed him a timid smile before looking back down at her drink.

His drink arrived and he tipped the bartender generously. He closed his eyes, savoring the first sip, bitter that he could never get really drunk again, never achieve oblivion at the bottom of a bottle. He never realized how tempting it was to just drink and drink and let his mind go blank.

He looked up once he'd finished and saw a burly guy sit down next the blonde. She was clearly uncomfortable, leaning away from him, and Bucky couldn't make out what the guy was saying, but from the woman's reaction, his attention was obviously unwelcome.

Bucky stood up and walked the length of the bar, keeping the man in his sights the entire time.

"Hey, pal. It's clear the lady said no. Why don't you go ahead and back off?" Bucky said as he approached, keeping his tone friendly.

"Why should I? What's it to you? Is she your girlfriend or something?" the guy asked, eyes narrowed.

"No. But it was obvious from across the bar that her answer was no. If I can tell that, why can't you?" Bucky asked, his tone no longer quite so friendly.

The man looked like he was going to argue, but Bucky gave him his best Winter Soldier stare, the look that dripped death and destruction. The bigger man swallowed and then shrugged with false bravado. "Fine. Whatever," he said, getting up and wandering over to another part of the bar.

Bucky nodded at the lady and turned to leave, but she caught his arm. "Thanks. Really, that was wonderful."

"It was nothing. I just didn't like seeing that guy bothering you."

"Well, I have to buy you a drink," she insisted. "My knight in shining armor," she said with a wink, gesturing towards his left arm.

Bucky grimaced a bit because that was what Monica had called him. It felt odd to hear the endearment flow from another woman's lips.

He looked at the girl, giving her a smile. She was pretty, but the truth was Bucky had never been particularly picky when it came to women. There was always something that he could find attractive, something that would grab his attention. He was about to say no, that it was alright. But her hand was still on his right arm, squeezing it slightly and it felt warm and good and he really wasn't in the mood to drink alone.

"Okay, Scotch, neat," he said as he sat down on the stool next to hers. He took out his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and placed it on the bar so that it wouldn't dig into his leg as he sat. He blamed Monica and her insistence that he buy jeans that were ridiculously tight.

She ordered for him and then turned and smiled at him. "I'm Sally."

He smiled, giving her a wink. "Bucky."

She cocked her head to the side and knit her brow. "Bucky? Really? Bucky?"

Bucky shrugged, nodding to the bartender as he handed him his drink. It wasn't the first time a dame balked at his name. "It's more like a nickname. So why are you looking so sad tonight? You were glum even before your overeager suitor arrived."

She bit her lower lip, flashing a small smile. "Oh. You caught that. I . . . I got fired today."

Bucky winced in sympathy. "Well, then I should be the one buying the drinks."

She shook her head. "Oh, I'm afraid my limit is one. I've got to get up early tomorrow and start looking for a new job." She motioned over to his phone. "Is that the new iPhone?"

"Um . . . I guess. I got it as a birthday present from some friends a few months back."

"Must have been some pretty good friends," she observed.

"The best," he said and for a moment, his mind flickered to Monica, about how happy she had been to be able to "pester" him with texts all day long, not that he really minded.

"Can I try an experiment? I have an old Android and I've been hating the camera on it. I was thinking of changing over to an iPhone."

Bucky smiled and took a sip of his drink. "Be my guest."

She took her phone out of her purse and leaned in, pressing her cheek against his. "Smile," she said as she held it aloft and snapped a photo.

Bucky blinked a bit and not just because of the flash. Having an attractive woman he'd just met lean against him like that was more than a little unnerving.

She set her phone down and then picked up his. "Alright, one more time."

After the second photo, she set the phones side by side, peering at them. "Yep, I'm going to have to go with an iPhone. Yours is so much better than mine."

Bucky looked at the two photos and shrugged. The one on his phone seemed a bit clearer, but the difference wasn't that pronounced. However, he knew that people nowadays always wanted the best cameras on their phones.

They sipped their drinks and talked for a few minutes about her job situation. Her company was downsizing and she was let go. She wasn't enthusiastic about her future job prospects. Bucky felt bad for her, knowing firsthand how hard it was to find work. Finally, she let out a small sigh. "Well, I should get going. Big day tomorrow, job-hunting and all.'

Bucky nodded.

"I . . . I live nearby. Just a few blocks away. Maybe you could walk me home? Be my knight in shining armor one more time?"

Bucky sat there for a second, wondering where his hesitation was coming from. Why wouldn't he want to walk a girl home? From the way she was looking at him, she'd most likely invite him up. And then, well . . . . Bucky had plenty of experience with what usually happened after that. There was more than one way of achieving oblivion.

But for some reason, he felt reluctant. He realized he had paused for too long in his answer when the girl's eyes went wide. "Oh, look, I'm sorry. I misread the situation. It's okay," she muttered. She grabbed a wad of cash from her purse to pay for the drinks, quickly slapping the money on the bar in her haste to leave.

Bucky caught her by her elbow to stay her. "No . . . . It'd be my pleasure," Bucky said smoothly, finishing his drink in one solid gulp, wishing for a moment that he hadn't offered.

He helped her on with her jacket and they walked arm in arm out of the bar. It felt good to be so close to someone. He noticed that she was leaning in, pressing against him and a flood of memories from his past came back to him. Memories of other women, of fervent whispers of devotion in the dark.

He caught himself staring at the woman as they walked, not listening to a word she was saying, wondering what she'd look like if she were taller, if her hair were dark instead of light.

 _Monica. You're thinking of Monica,_  he thought.  _It's not right to be with one woman while imaging another._

He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts. He didn't know why he was thinking of his fake wife when a real, living, breathing woman was standing next to him, giving him every indication that he'd be spending the night at her place.

"My apartment. It's just up the block there."

"Well, then, I should walk you to your door. Make sure you get home safely." Bucky had been down this road before. He knew just what to say. He knew his part, down to a T. He knew just how this little act of theirs was going to end.

"I'd like that," she said, her head against his shoulder as they walked.

Bucky focused on the woman next to him during the next few minutes, trying his best to banish thoughts of Monica. Sally gave him a shy smile under his intent gaze and he smiled back as she held on tighter to his arm.

"You could come in . . . have a coffee . . . if you'd like," she offered once they reached the door of her apartment.

 _So, that's what they call it nowadays_ , he thought. She was standing too closed to him and he had a hard time concentrating. He was about to answer when his phone beeped. An incoming text. He looked down reflexively and winced at the name.

"Monica," Sally said, looking at his phone. "Who's the Penelope Cruz lookalike? Your girlfriend?" she asked in a teasing tone.

He could lie. He could say a million things. A cousin. His sister. A friend. But, he didn't want to lie.

The truth was, he felt relieved.

"Actually, it's my wife," Bucky confessed as his phone beeped again and he slipped his hand into his jean pocket, feeling for the wedding ring he had put there.

She stepped back and her expression darkened. "Your wife? Of course, your wife. I swear, all you guys are the same. Thanks for nothing," Sally said angrily, striding into her apartment, slamming the door in his face.

Bucky looked down at the texts and couldn't help but smile.

_-Hi!_

_-How's my favorite husband? We're all going to the movies. Ten o'clock showing. Can you come?_

Bucky grinned as he texted her back.

_**-I wouldn't miss it for the world.** _

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Ch. 30**

Bucky walked quickly down the sidewalk from the subway stop, eager to meet up with Monica and their friends to see the movie. It felt natural to think of them as his friends, too. He saw them every Sunday, attended every home game with Michael and Josh, and even volunteered at the homeless shelter with Josh every Thursday. He'd come to genuinely like them. He could see why Steve had been drawn to them when he was lost and alone after waking up seventy years in the future.

Bucky felt a bit ashamed at how jealous he had felt when he had first gone to see a movie with them for Stacy's birthday all those months ago. Seeing Steve at ease and happy with a new group of people had made him feel left out, a new sensation when he was around Steve. Before, growing up, Bucky had always been the one to try to make Steve feel included, even when he couldn't run or play like the other kids.

He spotted them on the sidewalk in front of the movie theater and he quickened his gait. His eyes widened when he saw Erica. The top she was wearing accentuated her expanding belly and she looked like her delicate frame was going to tip over from the weight of it. She had nearly two months to go before delivery, but she seemed like she was due any second.

Monica turned around and smiled at him as he approached. "Hi, sweetie!"

Bucky swallowed. Time to give the performance. "Hi, dollface," he said, leaning to give her a peck on the cheek.

Erica's eyes widened at that. "Dollface? Sweetie? Is there something you want to tell us?" she asked with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Actually . . . there is," Monica said, slipping her arm around Bucky as he did the same. "We got married," she said triumphantly, showing off her ring.

"Married?" Erica, Michael, and Josh asked, almost in chorus. Stacy gave them an amused wink.

"Yep," Bucky confirmed, feeling uneasy. He forced a grin onto his face. He hadn't thought about what it would feel like to lie to people that he considered friends. They had done a lot for him in the last few months, accepting him, supporting him and deceiving them made him feel uncomfortable.

"When?" Erica asked sharply.

"This morning. City Hall. Stacy was our witness," Monica said, waving over to her. Stacy nodded in agreement.

"Why so quickly?" Michael asked with narrowed eyes.

Monica blushed a bit. "Well . . . we've been kind of secretly dating for a while. But since we already live together . . . . well . . . we thought we should get married sooner rather than later."

"Oh," Josh said, eyes widening as understanding dawned on him. "Yeah. I could see that."

The rest of the group nodded in agreement.

Bucky bit the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. Monica was right. They bought it. Given how devout the group was, a hasty marriage in their circumstances was not all that surprising. People in their church tended to marry on the younger side anyways, so Monica and Bucky deciding to forgo a lengthy courtship wouldn't be seen as too unusual.

"Well, congratulations!" Michael said, giving Bucky a hearty handshake and hug.

"I knew it! I knew it! I can't tell you how many times I told Michael there was something up between the two of you. I've seen how you both looked at each other. I just knew it!" Erica practically crowed.

"Well, you were right," Monica said with a gracious smile as Bucky fought the urge to laugh.

Josh turned serious,staring up at them. "You should have told us, though. We would have stood up with you," he insisted.

"I know. I know. We just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. We didn't even wait until Steve came back from his assignment," Monica said.

"He's still gone?" Erica asked Stacy sympathetically.

"Yeah," Stacy said with a sad smile.

"How are you holding up?" Erica asked.

"Um . . . honestly, it's been hard on me. Thank goodness for Monica and Bucky. I don't know what I would have done without them." Stacy said with a brave smile.

"Right back at you," Monica said, giving Stacy a quick hug.

"Well . . . . the movie starts in a few minutes. We should head on in," Josh observed.

Monica slipped her hand around Bucky's waist and he put his arm around her shoulder as they entered the movie theater. "Want some popcorn?" he asked as they neared the concession stand.

"Naw. My gorgeous husband made me a great dinner and I'm still stuffed," she said with a smile.

"Sorry . . . that I went out earlier. I just needed some time," Bucky said softly.

"No worries. I did Skype with my parents. Woke them up early and told them. They were . . . not so happy. Me getting married behind their backs. Well . . . us." She leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. "I felt horrible about lying to them, but if they found out about my work visa, they'd pressure me to come home and I don't want to do that."

"I should have been there." Although facing down Monica's angry parents wasn't high on his lists of a good time, he felt bad that he'd abandoned her to the task alone. He hadn't even considered that she was going to have to tell them. It was a poor example for a son-in-law, even a fake one.

"It's alright. You've done so much already. I owe you so much," she said, giving him a small squeeze.

Bucky stopped suddenly, turning to look at her. "We've been over this. You don't owe me anything."

Monica rolled her eyes. "Fine. I don't owe you anything. You don't owe me anything. We're just two friends who help each other out."

 _Friends_ , he thought ruefully.  _She couldn't go twenty minutes without bringing it up._ "Okay, friend, let's go watch a movie."

"It'd be my pleasure."

00000

The rest of the week crept by slowly for Bucky. He spent his days at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, going through a streamlined program for new recruits. He was amazed at the sheer amount of paperwork involved. Steve had grumbled endlessly about it, but Bucky had always assumed that he was exaggerating.

He wasn't.

As he sat hunched over a computer, trying to figure out yet another batch of requisition forms, he shook his head and closed his eyes. It wasn't that it was difficult, it was just mind numbingly boring. For every hour he spent in weapons or defensive training, he spent at least ten typing on a laptop. Every regulation he had to memorize had a long list of exceptions and caveats.

No wonder Steve got so frustrated at times.

Finally, the weekend rolled around. Saturday night, Monica invited their friends over to the apartment for dinner and a movie, as a peace offering for not telling them about getting married. She had felt bad about it and wanted to smooth things over. They ordered four large pizzas, knowing that Bucky would eat at least one or two by himself.

"So, are you guys going to move out? Get your own place?" Michael asked as they said grace and then all sat down to eat at the large dining room table.

"Uh . . ." Monica began with a stammer.

"Nah. Not just yet," Stacy cut in quickly, covering for Monica's lapse. "Since Steve's gone out on assignment all the time, I've asked them to stay for the interim."

"Oh . . . yeah. That makes sense. Finding an apartment's murder in this city," Erica said.

"And since Tony and I aren't seeing eye to eye at the moment, it's not like he's going to offer my own place here," Bucky said, grabbing a slice. He realized with a start that as a S.H.I.E.L.D. employee, he could request his own apartment in the Tower, but he knew that such a request would be quickly denied.

"He's still mad?" Josh asked.

"More than mad. But I avoid him and he avoids me and we just leave it at that," Bucky said, hoping that no one would ask any more about the subject.

"Well, since we missed the wedding, we wanted to do a little something for you," Erica said excitedly.

"No . . . oh no," Monica said. "That's not necessary. Really, it isn't."

"We insist," Michael said, handing a card over to them.

Monica opened the envelope and Bucky noticed that her hands were shaking slightly. The burden of lying to their friends was getting to her, but she also didn't want to make them complicit in their scheme.

She swallowed and gave them a wan smile as she began to read the card. "We are so blessed to witness this beautiful beginning of a new life together. We couldn't be happier for you."

"Look at what's inside," Erica urged.

Monica took out a card with a rose printed on it. "It's the business card for a bed and breakfast in upstate New York."

Josh gave them a big grin. "We chipped in. You have a week long stay for the two of you. A sort of honeymoon. It's not Europe . . ." he waved to Stacy, referring to her honeymoon with Steve, " . . . but we think you'll like it. There's no expiration date, since we know Bucky's schedule's probably hectic with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"You guys . . . " Monica began, but quickly dissolved in a fit of tears. "Thank you. You really shouldn't have." She grabbed Erica and gave her a tight hug.

"Yeah . . . Thanks," Bucky added, surprised to find his own eyes misting over. He knew what a sacrifice they'd made to pay for something like that and it made him feel all the more guilty for lying.

Once they finished eating and cleaned up a bit, they all gathered around the large screen T.V. in the living room to watch some sappy romance that the women had chosen. Bucky had a hard time paying attention to what was on the screen. He had his arm around Monica, playing the part of a newlywed, as her head rested on his shoulder. He found himself staring at her, the way one of the locks of her hair curled around her ear, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the way she bit her nails at an intense scene on screen.  _That's my wife_ , he thought and it hit him all over again, what he had done, what they had done.

After the movie finished, they all sat talking for a while. Erica and Michael were excited about the upcoming birth. Josh was planning a proposal to convince his bosses at Stark Industries to donate even more money to the homeless shelter. As they chatted, the screensaver popped up on Apple TV, a montage of the photos that they'd taken. Bucky grinned at the ones of him with Monica and Daniella at the zoo.  _A perfect family indeed,_  he thought.  _Well, I guess the woman's right about part of it. Monica is my wife, now._

His eyes widened however, when a more recent photo popped up. He was cheek to cheek with a petite blonde, smiling, his arm around her.

"Who's that?" Josh asked. "She's pretty."

"Uh . . . just some lady," Bucky said quickly, snapping off the TV. A little too quickly, perhaps. "She wanted to see how my phone's camera worked compared to her own. I guess mine was better."

"Really? Just some random woman. Man, some guys have all the luck," Josh teased.

"Josh!" Erica said sharply.

"What?" he replied.

"Does anyone want to have some cake? Monica and I baked a red velvet cake and it's really good," Stacy offered, getting up from the couch quickly.

"I'd love some cake," Michael said, trying to help as he stood up.

Later that night, once Erica, Michael, and Josh left and Stacy had gone to bed soon after, Monica and Bucky stood at the sink, washing and drying a huge mound of the dishes.

"That went well," Bucky observed. By the end of the night, it felt like everything was back to normal. Their friends seemed to be understanding about not being told earlier about the wedding. Their generous honeymoon gift was a testament to that.

Monica smiled. "Yeah, it did." She put the dish she was washing back in the sink and turned to look at him. "You know, Bucky, I don't expect you to be a monk. I understand that you're going to want to go out . . . have fun."

"She was just some lady I met," Bucky said, a bit more harshly than he'd intended. "She just wanted to use the camera. That's it. End of story." He set the dish he was drying down so hard, it nearly broke. He winced and then softened his tone. "Look, it was nothing. I just don't like getting hassled about it."

"Okay. Alright. Sorry," she said softly as she picked up another plate to wash.

He saw the hurt look on her face and felt guilty for his defensiveness. "Why don't I get the rest of the dishes? I know you have to get up early tomorrow to cover the church nursery."

Monica looked at the pile in front of them. "Are you sure?"

"Yep. Look, I shouldn't have gotten sore before. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Nobody likes getting teased. Well, I guess I'll go to bed. See you in the morning?"

"You bet," he replied.

Once she'd left the room, he immediately took out his phone and deleted the photo. He shook his head. Never again.

000000

Bucky saved a seat on his right side for Monica at church for the second service. Right before the first song started, she darted in, a bit breathless.

"How were the babies?" Bucky asked. He knew how much she looked forward to being with the infants every Sunday during the early service.

"Adorable. As always," she sighed. "I envy Erica, having one of her own soon. I know I shouldn't, but I do."

Bucky didn't know what to say. Instead, he slipped his hand in hers and held it tight. He smiled at her surprised look and leaned in to whisper. "We are playing the happy couple, right?"

She smiled back. "That we are."

After the songs had finished, the lead pastor took the stage. "Good morning. I have a confession to make. As a young man, I lived on fast food. I was used to it. I went years between good home-cooked meals. And I thought I was okay." He patted his belly.

"Then, I met my friend, Leo, and his wife, Sophie. They took pity on me, a poor seminary student, and invited me over for dinner one night. And it was a revelation. I had seconds. I had thirds. I found out later that they had made the lasagna with the idea that they would have leftovers for the next few days . . . ." The congregation began to chuckle. "Well, I showed them. Never invite a college student over and expect leftovers."

The pastor continued. "The thing is, until I ate over at my friends' house, if you would have asked me, I would have said that I had been eating pretty well. But afterwards . . . . let's just say that the thought of going back to fast food was repugnant. I practically lived over at Leo and Sophie's house, having them teach me everything they knew, until I learned to cook on my own."

"And when I met my wonderful future wife and offered to cook for her . . . well, I can owe the fact I got a second date to those cooking lessons," he said with a wink towards his wife in the front row.

"Like me and my fast food, we can be too easily pleased with something that's not worthy of our time and attention. We distract ourselves with mindless pleasures that don't give us true joy. C.S. Lewis said it best when he pointed out that, ' _It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased'."_

"So, my question for you is, how have you been too easily pleased? When have you settled for less than what God wanted for you, what He'd been planning for you?"

For a moment, Bucky reflected that earlier that week, he had been at another woman's apartment, planning to spend the night wrapped in her arms. As he held Monica's hand, her fingers laced in his, he winced and sent up a quick prayer.  _Thank you for that text. Thank you for waking me up_. He shuddered at the thought of how he had originally planned on spending that night. Drowning himself in another woman's arms, treating a stranger as nothing more than a means to an end. That's not the kind of person he wanted to be. Especially when he saw the way Monica smiled at him.

The pastor went on. "Don't settle for anything less than what God intends for your life. And that means that God might take you to unexpected places. He might push you out of your comfort zone, but He's taking on this wonderful journey. Too often, we settle for less. Too often we think that we are content when we are merely playing in the mud. We resist God when he wants to take us to the shore. But what He has in store for use is infinitely more precious, infinitely more worthy, infinitely more life-giving than what we leave behind."

"So, ask yourself, what does God have planned for you? He loves us so much and He wants only the very best for us. So, ask yourself, what amazing future is laid out for you? Maybe you're at the beginning. Maybe you're already part way through."

Bucky thought of how he was when Steve found him on Skid Row, aimless and traumatized, barely able to function. He thought of how far he'd come, of how much progress he'd made and he started to think about his future. A future where he felt free from his past.

"Lean into what God has as your goal. You'll be astounded as to where He'll take you," the pastor finished.

Monica squeezed his hand and smiled over at him as the pastor left the stage and the band began to play the next worship song.

He really had come a long way.

000000

The pastor stood at the door to the church, shaking everyone's hands as they left. His eyes lit up when he saw Bucky and Monica.

"Congratulations! I heard the good news about you two!" their pastor said as he shook Bucky's hand heartily.

"Thanks," Bucky said, a wan smile on his face. Lying to their friends was bad enough. The thought of lying to their pastor . . . well, that made Bucky feel more unsettled than he'd like to admit.

Their pastor turned to Monica. "So . . . have you told your husband the other good news?"

"Uh . . . not yet. We'll . . . . we'll need to think it over," she replied.

"Oh . . . well, we hope you'll say yes," the pastor said warmly before walking over to shake the hand of another member of the congregation.

"What was that all about?" Bucky asked.

"They've asked me to take over the whole children's ministry, infants to sixth grade. The woman who's in charge of it now is moving away." She sighed. "But, I'm going to turn it down."

"Why?"

"It's not a paying position. I need to find a job for my work visa. Then, we can get this whole thing annulled as soon as possible and you can be free," she explained.

"But . . . you'd be great as the head of the children's ministry. You'd love it," Bucky protested. He'd seen how her face almost glow with happiness when she worked with little kids.

"Yeah. I would. But, it's not fair to you. It'd take up a lot of my time. I wouldn't be as focused on looking for a new job. You shouldn't be stuck in this sham of a marriage any longer than you have to be." She looked down, shaking her head slightly.

"Hey . . ." He lifted her chin with one finger, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. It's hardly been a horrible burden."

"Are you . . . are you sure?" Monica asked, hope filling her face.

"Definitely."

Monica tackled him with a fierce hug. "You really are the best," she whispered in his ear.

Bucky held her just as tightly. So they'd be married a few extra months. That hardly seemed like a sacrifice.


	31. Chapter 31

**Ch. 31**

Having no choice was sickening familiar to Bucky. As he walked the halls of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, his mind would flash back to the bank vault, to his mind being wiped clean. Now, once again, he was pressed into service by a covert organization to help them achieve their goals, whether he wanted to or not.

He knew he wasn't be fair. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't Hydra. Not by a long shot. The wholesale slaughter of people wasn't on their agenda. Still, he knew firsthand how easy it was for even good people with noble goals to compromise. Not everything he did during the war was always morally justifiable.

His flashbacks were recurring with a disturbing frequency. While he could watch a movie without getting triggered, it was a whole other experience training with fellow recruits. He had to hold back so much while sparring, concerned that he'd injure a fellow trainee. His worst fear was that he'd hurt someone while training.

 _Not really. That's not your worst fear. Your worst fear is that I'll come back. I'll come roaring back in the middle of a mission. That you'll lay waste to everyone around you. That'll you'll go back to slaughtering people. That you'll wake up with your hands dripping with blood and not know why_ , the Winter Soldier voice in his head hissed.

Bucky cringed. That voice of doubt, of fear, of guilt, of shame had almost disappeared. He had hardly heard it anymore. But, once he started training for S.H.I.E.L.D. it came back. One day he was at the gun range and he had another flashback. He was trailing a nebbish looking man, in a light gray suit carrying a scuffed briefcase. He'd been told that the man posed a direct threat, but, at the time, he remembered thinking that something was off, that the assassination seemed like overkill. But he followed orders, and once the target was isolated, he was quickly dispatched, an efficient killshot to the head.

Once Bucky got his memory back, he looked up the man in the gray suit. He was no advanced scientist, no genius inventor. He was simply a governmental accountant who had discovered the secret funds that Hydra had been siphoning from S.H.I.E.L.D. for decades.

He was also a husband with a wife of twenty years.

He was a father with two kids, a ten year old boy and twelve year old girl.

He was a coach for his daughter's soccer team.

He was a volunteer who delivered meals to the elderly every Sunday afternoon.

And Bucky stood there, at the gun range, his body shaking uncontrollably as he keep reliving again and again the last time he'd held that type of rifle. In vivid detail, he remembered the man crumpling to the ground, his blood spilling onto the pavement.

He also remembered feeling nothing. No guilt. No remorse. No shame.

"You okay, buddy?" His instructor came up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah . . . . actually, no," Bucky admitted as he came out of the flashback, carefully setting down the weapon he had begun to assemble. His fingers were still trembling as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

His instructor nodded. It wasn't the first time Bucky had broken down during training. He gave Bucky a warm smile. "You know, according to your files, you're going to ace all of this. Why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

Bucky nodded. "Thanks. I'll stop by the doc's on the way out." Post-training counseling sessions had become a near-daily occurrence. She was upset that Fury had cleared him for training and every time Bucky reported another flashback, concern would flood her face. She reassured him that he was getting better, that he had come a long way. But, the thought of breaking down in the field still haunted him.

"See that you do," his instructor replied. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. I'll be here," Bucky promised, his heart not into it.

00000

Bucky didn't come home until well past ten that night. He couldn't handle Stacy and Monica fussing over him, asking how his day went. He texted them and lied, saying that his training was going to run late that night. Instead, he walked around for hours (avoiding any bars - he'd learned his lesson) and grabbed a pizza at his favorite restaurant, idly remembering the Valentine's Day "date" he'd had there with Monica, when he'd balked at the idea of dating her.

 _Little did I know I'd end up married to her_ , he thought, his mouth quirking into a grin.

As he let himself in the apartment later that evening, he saw Stacy at the kitchen table, her laptop out. Bucky smiled as he heard her talking animatedly with Daniella and Mateo over Skype. To give Amanda and Luis a break, Stacy had taken to reading them their bedtime story every night, giving the couple a few minutes to unwind every night, providing a sort of electronic baby-sitting.

Stacy was reading them one of her favorite novels from childhood, C.S. Lewis' " _The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe"_. The children sat in rapt attention, hanging onto every word that she read, their eyes wide, leaning forward to capture everything.

In the novel, the young characters were asking about Aslan, a fierce lion who would defeat the evil white witch that had taken over Narnia. They wanted to know if he was safe. Stacy smiled as she read the response.  _"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver ..."Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good." *_

Something inside of Bucky stirred. With his background and training, nearly everyone treated him like a weapon to be used. Or a bomb about to explode.

Maybe he'd never be safe.

Maybe that had been taken from him a long time ago.

But, he could be good.

Bucky smiled at the idea. He could be like Steve. He could use his skills and knowledge to protect people, make the world a better place. He could leverage what he had to help people. Work for S.H.I.E.L.D. to help bring down Hydra.

After what he'd done in his past, it was the least he could do.

000000

"You got married! And I had to find out from Fury of all people?" Steve paced back and forth across living room floor.

Bucky winced. Steve had come home early from his assignment, showing up one afternoon while Bucky was alone in the apartment, hurt and angry that he'd found out about it secondhand. "Look, I'm sorry. We couldn't get ahold of you and we had to act fast."

He stopped in front of Bucky, his arms crossed in front of him. "So, what happened?"

Bucky was determined to tell the truth. "She lost her job. Without a work visa, she was going to be sent back home."

"And so, you decided to do a fake marriage?"

"It was the only way. Like I said, we had to act quick."

"Bucky, I know you. You know that this was wrong. That's why you did it while I was away." Steve was more hurt than he cared to admit. After everything they'd been through, having Bucky do something like that stung. They'd always confided in each other, had each other's backs. They had never had any secrets from one another. Finding out that Bucky had gotten married from a conversation with Fury had thrown him for a loop.

Bucky gave Steve an incredulous look. "C'mon, Steve. I know you. What do you care if we're trying to pull a fast one on INS? You're hardly a stickler for the rules. Just how many times did you try to enlist during the war? And how many of those enlistment forms did you lie on? You don't care about the rules. You just care about doing what's right. That's all that's ever really mattered to you."

Steve shook his head. "That's not it. I don't care about that part of it." Bucky was right. Steve never cared about bending or even shattering the rules if it mean doing the right thing.

"Then, what?"

Steve scratched the back of his neck, groping for the right words, the right way to phrase it. He took a deep breath. "Bucky, I remember how you used to be with girls. A few smooth words and they'd tumble into your arms . . . . . you broke half the hearts in Brooklyn and now you're going to break Monica's heart. Think about it. How many girls used to pine for you long after you went onto the next conquest? And now you've up and married Monica, knowing you only see her as a friend. What have you done, Bucky?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve had it completely wrong. Monica was the one who thought of him as nothing more than a friend. She'd demonstrated that time and time again. "Steve, it's not like that. When she thought I could help her, she . . . she looked at me in a way no one's looked at me in a long time. She looked at me with hope. No one looks at me like that anymore. Ever."

"Bucky," Steve began.

"Everyone thinks of me like this broken thing. Hopeless. Or they're just waiting for me to explode into an orgy of violence and they treat me with kid gloves like some ticking time bomb. She . . . she believes in me."

"You know that's not true. Me and Stacy don't do that to you."

Bucky shrugged. "No, you're right. But everyone else . . . Look, I couldn't let them take Monica away. Send her back to Spain."

"I can see that," Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Bucky smiled. He knew he could turn Steve around. "When you leave for three, four weeks at a time, it's Monica that Stacy turns to. You can't take that away from your wife."

"Stacy understands," Steve countered.

"Yes, she's very, very understanding. And very, very lonely. She's wracked with nightmares about what happened when Hydra took her and they come back every time you leave. She finally started to go to counseling to deal with it." He knew that Stacy would be angry that he told Steve, but he'd been urging her for months to come clean to Steve. He was hopeful once she started counseling, but she told Bucky that she was going to stop when Steve returned, so that he wouldn't find out.

"She . . . she never told me." Steve sat down heavily on the couch, reeling from the news. He remembered how shaken up she had been after the kidnapping, showing signs of shock. He had tried to ask her about it, but she'd brushed him off time after time. It killed him to find out that she was still struggling with the aftermath a year later.

"Of course, she never told you. She doesn't want to burden you. She looks up to you. She knows that if you're worrying about her, you can't do your job. So, she hides it. Keeps it bottled away. I . . . I know what it's like to look up to someone like that," Bucky said with a grin. "You make everyone around you want to be a better person, Steve." He clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder. "But sometimes . . . . sometimes that's a lot to take on."

"I . . . I'll talk to her," Steve said quietly, looking down.

"She made me promise not to tell you, but you needed to know," Bucky said as he sat down next to him.

"Thanks," Steve said, turning to look at Bucky. "About Monica . . . ."

"That's between me and Monica," Bucky said firmly. "Look, she needed my help. It was the least I could do."

"Alright," Steve relented. "Alright. Just be careful."

"I will. I will, Steve," Bucky said.

"And then you joined S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Steve asked suspiciously. "You showed no interest in doing that before. I thought you didn't feel ready."

"I didn't . . . but . . ."

"But what?" Steve pressed.

The time for secrets was past. "Fury offered to help with the immigration department if I joined. He'd make sure that no one was suspicious of the marriage."

"That manipulative, low-down . . . ." Steve muttered under his breath.

"It's okay. Really it is. It's time I got out into the world. Did some real good. Helped people. Protected them. It'll be like old times. You and me against the forces of evil," Bucky said, giving Steve a grin he didn't quite feel.

"I mean, I have to admit, if I'm being selfish, yeah, I love the idea of you and me out in the field together again. But it's not right. The way Fury went about it. Cornering you like that," Steve said.

"I know. But please, don't tell Monica. It'd kill her to know," Bucky said.

"You really care about her," Steve observed.

"Well, she is my wife," Bucky said. "Fake or not."

"Bucky Barnes, a married man. I never thought I'd live to see the day," Steve teased.

"It only took seventy years for me to settle down," Bucky quipped.

"Hopefully it won't take another seventy for you to have a real marriage," Steve said, goodnaturedly punching Bucky in the arm.

"Hopefully," Bucky echoed, giving Steve a half-hearted smile.  _I doubt it_ , he thought to himself.  _Who's going to get involved with someone with my past?_

000000

A week later, both Bucky and Steve received a text from Fury while at the dinner table. " _Avengers assemble. Conference room 5. Now."_

"Why did I get the text? I'm not an Avenger," Bucky asked Steve, his brow knit in confusion.

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Looks like you are now. C'mon, let's go."

00000

Bucky was feeling pretty good as he sat in the conference room with Natasha, Clint, and Steve. Bruce wasn't there, since he wasn't an official member of S.H.I.E.L.D. and rarely came to the base unless there was an emergency.  _I guess I really am an Avenger now,_  he thought, a slight smile forming.

A smile that slipped away when Tony came in the room.

"What's he doing here?" Tony asked suspiciously as he saw Bucky there.

"He's been recruited. Agent Barnes has the makings of a valuable operative," Fury said evenly.

"Why wasn't I told?" Tony asked.

"Ironically, we were worried you'd be unreasonable about it. Now, if you'll just sit, we can begin the briefing," Fury said evenly.

Tony sat down without another word, as far away from Bucky that he could.

"We've found yet another facility that we've linked with Hydra. They're expanding on the Night-Night grenades," Fury explained

"How so?" Steve narrowed his eyes. He remembered being knocked out with one of them when he went to save Bucky.

"A bomb. Could knock out an entire city block."

"Why not just a regular bomb? It's not like they're squeamish about civilian casualties," Natasha wondered.

"It's for you all," Fury waved to the Avengers assembled around him.

"Us?" Clint asked.

"Hydra began as a rogue science division of the Nazis, remember? They're obsessed with being able to recreate versions of each one of you. And if they could capture you, experiment on you . . . ." Fury let the rest of the sentence hang. "And if they can't recreate another version of you, they can always try to brainwash you, turn you into one of them."

Bucky felt physically ill. The idea of being back in Hydra's clutches, of that machine robbing him of his identity once again was too much.

"We're going to need all hands on deck for this one. You'll all work together to take down the facility that we've pinpointed as the origin of this new experimental tech. We need to take them down and quick."

"No way. No way am I going to be on a team with him," Tony waved over at Bucky. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm not. We need you. Both of you. You need to go ahead and stow that attitude. For the good of the mission," Fury said firmly.

Tony shook his head, crossing his arms in front of him. "Forget it. I'm out."

"No, you're not. You're in too deep, Stark. You can't pretend indifference now. We all know you. You hate the fact that your parents are dead? Fine! But that was Hydra and not Barnes and deep down, you know that. You want revenge for what happened to them? Help us take down what's left of Hydra. Don't run back to your mansion and sulk," Fury said acidly.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Alright. But he stays out of my way. I'd hate to have him taken out by friendly fire."

"Tony," Steve began. It killed him to see Bucky do his best to shrink away from Tony, his eyes downcast, feigning indifference.

Tony whirled to face him, shaking in anger. "Don't start with me. Don't you dare. You knew. For months, you harbored the man who murdered my parents in your apartment and you never said a thing. I never thought you'd do something like that," Tony snarled.

"Hey, you're not being fair," Natasha protested. "You know Steve. He didn't do that to hurt you."

"You're taking his side?" Tony asked, his eyes wide.

"Look, it's not like Bucky had a choice. And you have no idea how it feels, Tony. To have blood on your hands like that. I do," Clint chimed in. "Loki used me like a weapon. Robbed me of my free will and had me kill fellow agents I had known for years. I . . . I still have nightmares. You can't put that all on him."

"Look . . . alright. I get it. You're all on his side," Tony said snidely.

"Tony, Hydra killed your parents. Not Bucky. So let's go after them," Steve said earnestly. "Everything else can wait. Let's take them down."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine. Fine." He blew out a frustrated breath. "I'm on board with that."

Bucky just sat there, silent during the exchange, witness to the brokenness and pain left in the aftermath of The Winter Soldier's path of destruction and carnage. He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath.  _I may not be safe, but I can be good_ , he thought, bringing to mind the book that Stacy had read.  _I can make up for my past. I can help people now. I can take down Hydra and show him that I never meant to hurt his parents. This mission's going to go off without a hitch._

Unfortunately, Bucky was wrong about that.

* * *

**Author's Note-**

As you already know, I adore C.S. Lewis.

* Quote comes from page 83 of "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe" by C.S. Lewis.


	32. Chapter 32

**Ch. 32**

Steve awoke to Stacy thrashing about in the bed. On their wedding night, she had warned him that she was a restless sleeper and had apologized in advance if she ever woke him up. His stomach twisted when he realized that it was a lie. She wasn't a restless sleeper. She was having continual nightmares about being kidnapped by Hydra. Nightmares that she had hid from him for over a year.

Gently, he shook her shoulder. "Stacy? Honey, you're having a nightmare."

She awoke with a start, her eyes wide with terror, panting and gasping for air. She shrank from him for a moment until she recognized him, the nightmare still clouding her mind. "Sorry. Sorry about that," she apologized, her hair wild and her eyes still a bit unfocused as she sat up a bit in bed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"What was the nightmare about?" he asked as he reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. It killed him that he hadn't recognized it before. He'd had his own share of grotesque dreams about the war, about Bucky dying, about the Chitauri invasion. She had always soothed afterwards, helping him fall back asleep. He'd never suspected that she was suffering as well.

"No nightmares," she said quickly as she blinked against the sudden influx of light. "Like I've said, I'm a restless sleeper. I'm sorry. Let's just go back to sleep." She laid back down, rolling over so that her back faced him.

"Please, don't lie to me."

"Lie?" She turned over, sitting up in bed once again.

"Bucky told me," he said, studying her face for her reaction.

She gritted her teeth. "Told you what?"

"About your nightmares after what Hydra did."

"He promised he wouldn't say anything," she said in a small voice.

"I'm glad he told me. Stacy . . . why didn't you tell me?"

She looked down, playing with the sheets in her lap. "Because it's nothing. It's a silly reason to have nightmares."

He lifted her chin up with one finger, staring into her eyes. "You were kidnapped. Threatened. Witnessed a horrible battle. People tried to kill you. That's not nothing."

"It's nothing compared to what you go through," she countered, tears welling in her eyes.

 _It's like Bucky said. She's trying to be brave for me_ , he thought. "Sweetie, it's not a competition. You need to get help."

"I was . . . for a while," she said.

"Why did you stop?"

"I didn't want you to find out," she admitted.

That hurt all the more. The fact that she would deny herself the help that she needed just to put on a good face for him. "Well, now I know. Can you please promise me you'll go back to counseling?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He took her in his arms, holding her tightly. "And no more secrets. I love you. You can tell me anything."

She held on just as tight. "I love you, too. I promise. No more secrets."

000000

The next morning, Bucky noticed that Stacy barely looked at him, racing through breakfast and downing coffee at a terrific rate. Every attempt at conversation was shut down. Steve had gone on an early morning run with Sam, so Bucky had no idea what was bothering her. He tried once again to engage her. "What time are you going to be home?" Bucky asked. "It's my turn to cook dinner. I was going to make spaghetti."

Stacy shrugged. "I've got some meetings. I have to go to. I'll be home late."

"Do you want me to make you up a plate?" he offered.

She shook her head. "I'll probably just grab something while I'm out."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes," she replied, but she wouldn't look at him, fiddling with her phone. "Look, I . . . I've got to go."

Once Stacy had left, Bucky went over to Monica's room and knocked softly on her door.

"Come in," she answered.

As he opened the door, he saw her sitting at her her desk, peering intently at her computer, trying to answer all the email she received now that she was spending so much time volunteering at the church. "Is Stacy . . . is she mad at me?" Bucky asked her. He leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms.

Monica closed the screen she was on and turned to look at him, giving him a small nod.

Realization dawned on him. "It's 'cause I told Steve. About her nightmares." He felt horrible. After all that Stacy had done for him, having her sore at him grated on him.

"Yeah . . . but for what it's worth, I think you did the right thing," she said.

"You do?" His eyes widened. He assumed she'd just take Stacy's side.

She nodded. "Yes. I do. She's been carrying that burden for over a year. And she thinks it makes her weak, that she should be able to just shrug it off. I've tried to tell her again and again, but she can be stubborn."

"That she can," he chuckled.

"The thing is . . . she wasn't going to tell Steve. Not ever. She was going to stop going to therapy and just try to stoically go it on her own. But, she needed help."

"I agree," he said.

"Steve's talked to her. Persuaded her to keep seeing a counselor. So, I'm glad you told him. Some secrets just shouldn't be kept."

00000

The next few days between Bucky and Stacy were tense, but one night, they both found themselves up late at night, plagued by nightmares.

"I could . . . I could make some cocoa," Bucky offered, wincing at how ragged and exhausted Stacy looked.

"Thanks . . . I'd like that. Steve going back out on assignment . . . it's stirring up a lot of stuff," she admitted in a weary voice.

"I can see that," he said with a reassuring smile. He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry. About telling Steve. It wasn't my secret to tell."

Stacy swallowed hard. "You were right, though. I should have told Steve. It's just . . . ."

"He makes you want to be perfect," Bucky supplied.

"Yes! Well, maybe not perfect, but better than you are."

"And that's a hard burden to carry," he said.

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. She shook her head. "I feel terrible about complaining that my husband is too good."

"I know what it's like. But for all that, he really isn't perfect. And he loves you just the way you are. Flaws and all," Bucky assured her.

She smiled. "I know."

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

She nodded. "I'm trying not to be."

"How about that hot chocolate?"

"Thanks, Bucky. For everything," she said and Bucky felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

000000

Wednesday afternoon rolled around and Bucky accompanied Steve, Stacy, and Monica to the senior center. He was looking forward to seeing Mr. Johnson. They'd become fast friends over the months. Mr. Johnson thought of Bucky as a surrogate son, despite the fact that Bucky was technically older than him.

Bucky made a beeline for Mr. Johnson as he walked into the Activity Center. Most weeks, he'd talk briefly with a few of the other residents, but the truth was, he looked forward to seeing Mr. Johnson the most. And Mr. Johnson's eyes would light up whenever Bucky walked through the door, obviously anticipating seeing him, too.

Bucky had made it a point to see Mr. Johnson every week, even after being recruited to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury gave him special permission to leave early every Wednesday, allowing Bucky to keep up his weekly visits. Bucky wondered if Fury did it out of a sense of guilt about railroading Bucky into joining S.H.I.E.L.D. But, he didn't care what the motivation was. As long as he could keep his weekly appointment at the senior center.

"It's good to see you. Married life agrees with you," Mr. Johnson said with a twinkle in his eye. Like everyone else, he believed that Bucky and Monica had married because they were in love. Bucky didn't have the heart to set him straight. He worried it might lower his estimation of Bucky and Bucky couldn't bear that.

"That it does," Bucky lied. He didn't want to burden the older man with tales of his horrid nightmares and the persistent fears stirred up by returning to active service.

"You seem a bit down," Mr. Johnson observed.

Bucky gulped. He hated what he had to say. "I . . . I'm going to be gone. Just for a couple of weeks. They're sending me out on assignment."

"Oh," Mr. Johnson said in a small voice. "I figured as much . . . now that you're back on active duty. I just . . ." he trailed off, looking at his hands folded on his lap.

"Monica and Stacy will still be here," Bucky offered, desperate to wipe the wretched look off the man's face.

"You got yourself a good one there. I knew it the first time I saw you two together. Friends indeed," he scoffed.

"You were right," Bucky said weakly, hating himself as the lies poured out. "We were meant for each other."

"You take care of yourself. I know what you do is dangerous. You've got a wife now. Your life doesn't belong to yourself anymore. She's yours and you're hers. You don't take any risks, you hear now? It isn't fair to her. You need to come home to her. You . . . you need to come home to us," and his voice broke on the last word.

"Safe and sound. I promise," Bucky said. "Safe and sound."

00000

"Now . . . you be careful," Monica said as Bucky packed up his gear the morning that he was leaving for his mission with Steve. She was sitting cross-legged on his bed, watching him as he collected everything he needed for the mission. She had spent the last few days helping him with laundry and buying supplies for his first big assignment as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

"Always am," Bucky said blithely as he hunted in his dresser for an extra pair of socks.

"I mean it," she said gravely. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

"Probably have to find yourself another fake husband," he teased as his fingers curled around the last pair of clean socks at the bottom of the drawer.

"Don't do that! I'm being serious. I'm worried about you. You're . . . you mean a lot to me," she admitted softly.

Bucky froze for a moment, not knowing what to say.

Monica blushed. "I mean . . . you're one of my best friends. This is a dangerous mission. Something could happen."

"And how do you know it's a dangerous mission?" he asked carefully as he stuffed the socks in his duffel bag, glad for the change of subject. Both he and Steve had been careful not to divulge any of the details to their wives. Fury had gone on and on about the top secret nature of the assignment.

"Both you and Steve on the same mission . . . Tony, too? Seems like someone wants to bring out the big guns."

Bucky swallowed. She wasn't wrong. "I'll be fine. Like you said, we've got all the big guns."

"Really? Do you? Will Tony watch your back?"

He paused. It was a question he'd asked himself time and time again. He'd never been on a mission with someone who he couldn't trust before. It gnawed at him, the fact he couldn't put his faith in Tony. The truth was, he wasn't sure that Tony would watch out for him. He shrugged, giving an air of false bravado. "Steve'll be there."

"He can't be everywhere. Just . . . be careful." She propelled herself off the bed and rushed at him, arms outstretched, landing with a thud against his chest as she enveloped him in a tight hug. He folded his arms over her, holding on just as tightly, not wanting to let go. He wanted to the moment to go on forever as they stood there.

"I will," he promised. "I will."

000000

The tension on the Quinjet was palpable as they flew towards their destination. Bucky felt guilty that he had caused such a rift in once tight-knit group. Tony sat in the back sulking, not talking to anyone. Clint and Natasha piloted the jet while he and Steve stood behind them, going over the mission parameters. They were coordinating over two dozen of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most highly trained operatives and the timing had to be impeccable.

"It's like old times," Steve said with a grin.

"Not exactly," Bucky quipped, waving to the holotable that they were using. "The tech's gotten a lot better."

Steve chuckled. "Yeah. But you and me . . . back in the field together."

"Fighting Hydra . . . seventy years in the future," Bucky said drolly.

"Yeah. I know. The battle goes on," Steve said.

"Same enemy. New generation."

"We beat 'em before. We'll beat 'em again," Steve said firmly.

"I wish I had your faith," Bucky said.

"You did once. You'll have it again," Steve declared.

Bucky grinned. Nothing ever stood in the way of Steve's determination. "With you around, how could I not?"

Steve nodded and then called out to Natasha and Clint. "We should go over a few things before we get started."

Natasha engaged the autopilot and followed Clint. She stood by his side, a serious expression on her face. Bucky knew this mission hit close to home for her. She'd been taught from childhood to be a weapon, had been manipulated and abused. The idea of Hydra trying to capture her and turn her back into that had sickened her and she was ready to raze the facility to the ground.

"You, too," Steve said pointedly at Tony, still lounging at the back of the plane, playing with his phone.

"Fine," Tony said curtly, thrusting his phone in his pocket with an exaggerated sigh.

Once Tony had joined them around the table, Steve brought up a holographic display of the schematics of the warehouse. "We're going in at 0715. It's right after a shift change and it's when there are the least amount of people in the facility. According to our intel, the guards are private security, not Hydra, so icers only."

"Night-night guns?" Tony scoffed. "Really? Why don't we just bring lollipops and ask them real nice to surrender?"

"Tony," Steve said, his voice containing an edge. Bucky winced. Steve looked like he'd had enough of Tony's belly-aching.

"Don't 'Tony', me. What's Clint going to do?" He waved over to his fellow Avenger.

"Tranq arrows. They'll take down a charging elephant. A merc for hire should be no problem," Clint replied with a smirk.

Tony turned to Natasha. "You can't possibly be on board with this."

"They're civilians, Tony. They don't know they're working for Hydra," she explained.

Tony shook his head in disgust. "You all seem pretty willing to let murderers get away scot free. It figures."

Bucky winced, knowing that last barb was meant for him.

Steve tensed, his voice low and deadly. "That's it, Tony. We've put up with you for weeks, but that's it. Either you're in or you're out. Either you're a part of the team or you're not."

Tony stared at Steve for a good, long while, finally shaking his head. "Okay. I'm in."

"Good. Then, let's get ready."

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The mission began without a hitch. Steve had coordinated with a large contingent of local S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as well and they took the first floor of the facility within a matter of minutes. For Bucky, knowing that the icers he was using would only knock his opponents unconscious made the raid easier. He didn't hesitate once, cleanly taking out a dozen private security guards. He and Steve split up after the first few minutes, deciding to clear opposite sides of the building.

He reached an open section of the warehouse littered with second-story catwalks. It was clearly an area devoted to the experimentation of prisoners, with empty cells and temporary surgical theaters dotting the enormous room. After taking down another ten guards, he froze as he saw an all too familiar chair in one corner of the cavernous room.

It was the chair that Hydra used to strap him down and drain his memories.

He gave into a blind moment of panic and fear as seven decades of grotesque memories swirled in his brain.

"First floor has been cleared. Proceeding to the second floor to sweep for hostiles," Clint voice crackled over Bucky's earpiece.

Bucky blinked and forced himself to calm down, clawing his way back to the present. Without a second thought, he laid down his icer and took out his gun, emptying an entire clip into the chair and surrounding monitors until the entire contraption was only a smoking mess.

It felt a lot better than it should have.

He grinned to himself, but that grin faded away as he saw Tony enter the room from a nearby doorway.

"What do you think you're doing?" Bucky yelled as he saw Tony's Iron Man armor begin to disengage. "We still haven't cleared the building. There could still be hostiles. Get back in that armor!"

"I'm not taking orders from you, Barnes. The only hostile here is you," Tony snarked as more and more of his armor came off. "This isn't my first rodeo. I know how to take care of myself."

Bucky picked up his icer, shaking his head at Tony's arrogance. He strode over to Tony and was about to reply, when he caught a glimpse of sunlight glinting off of metal out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head and saw a sniper on the second story catwalk aiming at Tony. Without thinking, he launched himself at Tony, tackling him to the ground as the shot rang out.

"Get off me," Tony snarled, pushing against him.

It was the last thing Bucky heard before everything went black.

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Ch. 33**

A third time.

He'd lost Bucky a third time.

First, when he fell off that train in the Alps.

Second, when he took off after the hellcarriers fell.

And the third time, seeing Tony kneeling over him, trying to staunch the blood flowing from his neck.

0000000

For a moment, Steve completely shut down. Seeing one of his worst fears in front of him tore into him. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He could barely breathe.

Then, he forced himself to stuff all that terror down as far as it would go as he knelt down beside Bucky, taking over for Tony, applying pressure to the wound. "What happened?"

"Sniper," Tony said as he stood on unsteady feet, waving to an unconscious guard lying on the catwalk above them. "Barnes . . . he pushed me out of the way. He saved my life." He looked down at his hands, covered in Bucky's blood and shuddered.

Steve felt for a pulse. It was weak, but it was it was there. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Then, his brow knit. "Tony, why would he do that? It's not like your armor would be-"

"I wasn't wearing it!" Tony interrupted, wiping the blood off his hands with his shirt. "He tried to warn me. That bullet was meant for me. It's . . . it's my fault."

Anger bloomed up inside Steve. Bucky sacrificing himself due to Tony's arrogance was almost more than he could bear. Instead of lashing out, he pressed a free hand to his ear. "Where's that med evac Tony called in?" he asked over the comm system.

"On its way, Cap," Agent Maria Hill assured him. "Two minutes out. Tops."

"I'm sorry . . . I . . . ." Tony began, an anguished look on his face.

"Hopefully, you'll be able to say that to him, face to face," Steve bit out as he stared down at Bucky, who looked more like a corpse than a man.

000000

Two minutes felt like an eternity.

But then, the medics arrived and time began to move again. Before Steve knew it, they were back at the base, Bucky laying still and pale on a hospital bed. Nurses and doctors had rushed around him, some of them urging Steve to leave the room, but he couldn't, not even for a moment. All he could do is stare at Bucky, the machines and devices working tirelessly to keep him alive.

Steve was no stranger to hospitals. He practically lived in one as a child, admitted again and again for a slew of illnesses. He remembered the feel of the scratchy sheets, the doctors' brusque examinations, the nurses' faces full of pity and concern. Most of all, he remembered the feeling of helplessness.

Looking at Bucky, that feeling of helplessness reemerged. There was nothing he could do. There was no way he could help save Bucky.

So, he did the one thing left.

He sank down to his knees at his best friend's bedside and began to pray. He had no words at first, only an overwhelming sense of desperation. "Please, Lord. Please. Please save him. Don't let it end like this. Please. Please guide the doctors and nurses. Please bring him back to us. Please."

000000

After more hours than he could count, Steve ended up falling asleep in a hard backed chair he'd pushed next to Bucky's bed. He woke when the door was pushed open and his eyes flew open to see Monica there, mascara streaking down her face, her eyes bloodshot.

"How'd . . . how'd you find out?" Steve asked. They weren't supposed to contact the outside world until they had gone through the debriefing. Steve hadn't even called Stacy.

"I'm his . . . emergency contact," she said, her voice breaking.

"Stacy?"

"She's still in Michigan, visiting her parents. I called her. She's taking the next flight home. She'll be here as soon as she can."

Steve nodded. He knew she'd want to be there.

"What . . . what happened? Why isn't he getting any better?" Monica asked as she approached. "I thought you guys were able to recover from anything."

"I . . . I shouldn't really talk about it," Steve hedged, not able to meet her eyes, knowing that S.H.I.E.L.D. had likely bugged the room. He wouldn't put anything past Fury and his obsession with secrecy.

"I. AM. HIS. WIFE," Monica said with a vehemence that stunned Steve, causing him to back into a wall as she advanced on him, her teeth clenched, her eyes narrowed.

Steve blinked at the fierce devotion in her eyes.  _When had that happened? When had she and Bucky become that close?_  He knew that he'd been gone a lot in the past few months, but he was shocked to see how strongly she felt. "Poison. The bullets were laced with it. If it had hit Tony instead of Bucky, he would have been dead before he hit the floor."

"Tony?"

Steve winced, anticipating her reaction, wishing that he hadn't said anything. "Bucky saved him. Pushed him out of the way of the bullet," he explained.

"So, he's lying in that bed because of Tony?" she asked, gesturing towards Bucky, her hands trembling.

"Monica," he began as he reached out to comfort her.

She shook her head as she pulled away. "Don't. Just don't. Don't say that it's a part of the job. Don't say that he knew the risk." She swallowed hard, grief coloring every word. "I knew it. I knew Tony would do this to him. I knew he couldn't trust him."

"Tony's with Bruce now, working on an antidote. They even brought in a specialist, someone who's worked with supersoldiers before."

"Well, isn't he the humanitarian?" she said bitterly.

"Look, I'm sure that he hasn't slept since it happened. He's doing everything he can to help Bucky."

"Sounds like a case of too little, too late," she sniped.

"I sure hope not," Tony said quietly, having entered the room without their noticing. His face was haggard and pale, looking like he'd aged a decade in the past day. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before, sporting a few new wrinkles and various coffee stains.

"You!" Monica snarled in disgust.

"Me," Tony said, giving a half-hearted grin, leaning against the door jam,crossing his arms in front of him.

"Do you have any idea of how many nightmares Bucky has had because of what Hydra did to him? How many times I'd find him in the corner of his room, curled up in a ball, barely holding on after a flashback? They tortured him for decades. They twisted him into knots, playing with his brain like it was toy. Experimenting for the fun of it. You know, after all these months, he was finally getting some peace. He was finally scratching and clawing his way back to sanity. To being whole again. And then you threw a hissy fit over something that wasn't even his fault and it all came crashing down again. He didn't do anything to your parents, Tony. Hydra did that. They're the ones to blame. Not Bucky. And you know that I'm right," she hissed, staring down at the shorter man.

Tony looked like he was about to jump to his own defense for a moment, but shrugged his shoulders instead and looked over at Steve. "Bruce and Simmons are on their way. They think they've cracked it."

"The antidote?" Steve said, hope flooding his system to hear an answer to prayers on its way.

"Yep. They're working on synthesizing it right now. They'd like to borrow you, if you don't mind. Given your similarities, they thought they might be able to use you as a baseline," Tony said.

"Yes, anything," he agreed hastily. He turned to Monica. "You'll stay with him?"

"I won't leave his side," she said firmly, settling down in the seat that Steve had sat in.

"Good. We'll be back soon," Steve promised, following Tony out of the room.

000000

The first thing Bucky felt when he woke up was someone holding his right hand. His eyes fluttered open and he squeezed back when he saw it was Monica.

"You're back," she said as her face lit up with pure joy.

"I'm back. What happened?" Bucky's throat felt like he'd swallowed sandpaper. He reached for the glass of tepid water on the bedside table and Monica quickly grabbed it and held the plastic straw steady for him to sip.

"You were a hero. Like always."

"A man could get used to being called a hero." He began to smile even though his entire body ached.

"I'll call you it everyday," she promised as she peered at him. "How do you feel?"

"I've been worse," he said off-handedly, pushing himself up to a sitting position and instantly regretting that decision. He sank back down into the bed and groaned softly as every part of his body tensed in pain.

"Liar," she teased, squeezing his hand again.

Bucky chuckled. "Alright. Not much worse. Where are we?" He looked around, but he couldn't place where he was.

"Hospital wing of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base. They evacuated you after you decided to get yourself shot saving Tony."

Bucky winced. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Monica's face turned solemn. "You promised me. You promised me that you were going to be careful."

He really shouldn't be making promises he knew he couldn't keep. "I know. Careful really isn't in the job description."

"I thought . . . I thought I was going to lose you," she said, looking down at her hands, the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Hey . . . you should know by now. I'm not that easy to kill," he said, earning a small smile from her.

"I should . . . I should call the others. Steve didn't want to leave. He spent the last three days straight watching over you. Eventually Bruce and Tony dragged him out of here, told him he had to get some sleep. Stacy was here yesterday, all day long. I should text her, let her know you're up."

"You stayed the night?" Bucky asked. He couldn't imagine the chair she was sitting in being very comfortable.

"I'm your wife," Monica said simply as she took out her phone and began sending a text to Stacy.

"I know but . . ." Bucky began. He saw how weary she looked. He felt bad that she felt the need to stay with him just to keep up the pretense that they were really husband and wife. She should have just gone home with Stacy. She didn't need to keep on pretending. It was too much to ask of anyone to play the dutiful wife for days on end.

"Now, how would it look if I didn't stay by my man's side in his hour of need?" she asked gently as she pocketed the phone. "Besides, I didn't want you to wake up alone."

"I'm glad I didn't," he admitted, feeling selfish for taking such comfort in her mere presence. Having her there made everything seem better. He felt like he was taking advantage of her good will and sense of obligation.

Monica pressed the intercom for the nurses located on the wall behind Bucky's bed. "Please inform Captain Rogers that Sergeant Barnes is awake."

"Yes, ma'am," came the quick reply.

"The bullet you took was poisoned. Bruce and Tony worked round the clock to find you a cure. Even ran tests on Steve to make sure it would work," Monica informed him.

"Well, I was in good hands, then," Bucky said. It made him feel strangely reassured that Tony had worked on finding a cure. It was a hopeful sign. Perhaps he was no longer quite so angry and resentful about what Bucky had done to his parents. "How's Steve holding up?"

Monica shook her head. "He's not. He's a wreck. You can't keep dying on him," she said sternly, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"I know. I know. He's going to be even more overprotective now, isn't he?" he groused.

"Probably," she admitted. "You're family. It's to be expected."

 _Family._  It wasn't the first time she'd said that to him. And he believed it. Looking at her, he could clearly see the exhaustion on her face from the hours that she'd stayed by his side. Friendship only went so far. Family was for life.

He reached out and grabbed her hand, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. "Family."

"Family," she said just as firmly, a wistful smile gracing her lips.

000000

Before long, his recovery room was buzzing with activity and noise. It was crowded with Monica, Steve (who nearly ripped out Bucky's IV by giving him a bear hug that lifted him off his bed), Tony, Bruce, and a young English scientist who worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Let me introduce Dr. Simmons, our foremost authority on supersoldier physiology and antidote expert," Bruce said, waving towards the slight woman dressed in a sweater and conservative skirt.

She smiled at the group. "Please, call me Jemma. And it really isn't an antidote, more like an antiserum," she corrected. "The poison was based off of the venom of both the black mamba and the box jellyfish. It's fascinating how Hydra was able to take the properties of both venoms to create something strong enough to fell a supersoldier, really it is."

"Not from where I'm sitting," Bucky said dryly.

"No, of course, it wouldn't be," Jemma added hastily, her cheeks coloring. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I get so engrossed in the science . . ."

"Thank you again," Steve said warmly, walking towards her to shake her hand. "For saving Bucky."

Jemma cast an appreciative glance at the shirtless patient, her smile widening. "It was my pleasure."

Monica took a step forward to place herself between Jemma and Bucky, giving the woman a fierce hug. "Yes. Thank you for saving my husband," she said pointedly, holding onto the other woman's upper arms and staring her in the eyes.

"Husband?" Jemma repeated with a crestfallen look on her face. "That would be the case, wouldn't it?"

Bucky bit his lip to suppress a chuckle as Monica returned to his side. "Yeah, thanks, doc."

"Anytime," Jemma replied. "Working with Dr. Banner and . . ."

"Bruce and Tony. We told you to call us Bruce and Tony," Bruce gently corrected.

She blushed again. "Working with Bruce and Tony . . . well, that has been the fulfillment of a dream of mine for . . . well . . . decades."

"Now, I feel old," Bruce shot out.

"Practically ancient," Tony added. "I've got sneakers older than this whiz kid."

"Now you know how Bucky and I feel," Steve said with a chuckle.

"Well . . . I should get going. Fitz is going to lose it when he realizes he missed an opportunity to work with the legendary Tony Stark," Jemma said.

"Legendary . . . Did you hear that? Legendary," Tony said with a smirk, stroking his goatee.

"Most legends are ancient," Bruce pointed out, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

"Ha. Ha," Tony said sarcastically before turning back to Jemma. "Tell you what. You get Coulson to give you and your friend, Fitz, a weekend off and I'll have you over to my newly reconstructed Malibu home. The basement is full of goodies. It'll be like Disneyland, but cooler."

"Really?" Jemma asked, her eyes wide.

"Really and truly," he assured her as he put his arm around her and gently steered her out of the room. "Now, we should probably let the patient get some rest."

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A few hours later, there was a slight knock on the door to his hospital room. Bucky was puzzled as the nurse had just left after checking his vitals. "Come in."

Tony opened the door. He'd showered and changed, wearing his usual AC/DC T-shirt. "Hi. How are you doing?"

"Better. I'm glad you came by. I wanted to thank you," Bucky said, sitting up in bed and finding that it no longer hurt quite so much to do so. "For working with Bruce and Jemma to create that antidote."

"Antiserum," Tony corrected with a twinkle in his eye.

"Antiserum," Bucky repeated.

"Well, thank you. You saved my life."

Bucky shrugged, wincing at the soreness at his neck. "That's the job."

"No. You saved my life even after everything I said. Everything I did."

Bucky grimaced. "I killed your parents. You were right to be angry."

"No. I wasn't. Monica was right. Hydra killed my parents. They just used you to do it. But everyone involved in that decision was long dead. So, I took it out on you. And that wasn't right. I'm sorry. For everything." He crossed the distance between them and stuck out his hand.

Bucky shook his hand, a feeling of relief engulfing him. "Takes a big man to admit when he's wrong," Bucky observed.

"You know me, the biggest man around," Tony said wryly with a small chuckle.

"Humble, too," Bucky said.

"One of my many great qualities." Tony paused for a moment. "You know, I thought it was just an immigration scam to be honest, but seeing her today . . ."

Bucky cocked his head to the side. "What?"

"That wife of yours . . . she really cares about you."

Bucky thought back to Monica's reaction to him waking up. "Yeah . . . I guess she does."

* * *

 **Author's Note** -

There's a slight shoutout to my fellow  **Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.**  fans with the inclusion of Dr. Jemma Simmons in this chapter.


	34. Chapter 34

**Ch. 34**

It took Bucky a few more days before he was cleared by the doctors to leave the base hospital wing. Steve and Stacy visited everyday, but Monica practically moved in, bringing a hot pink overnight bag with her and haranguing a nurse into wheeling in a portable folding cot for her to sleep on.

"You don't need to stay here," Bucky protested when he saw her make up the tiny bed. She had been more than kind to stay as long as she had and he felt bad about her sleeping on an uncomfortable cot just to watch over him. Having her stay by his side just to prove that their sham of a marriage was real was more than anyone should be asked to do. Even Steve, as close as they were, went home at the end of the day, although that had more to do with spending one on one time with Stacy than anything else.

"You almost died," Monica countered as she fluffed the pillow and connected her cell phone to its charger. She took out a bag of toiletries and walked into the tiny bathroom adjoining his room.

"Yeah, but . . ."

"You almost died," she repeated, nearly yelling through the closed door of the bathroom.

The matter was settled.

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After Monica sprung him from the SHIELD base hospital, Bucky rested at home a few more days before reporting back to duty, waited on hand and foot by Monica despite his protests to the contrary. She cooked all his favorite meals and anticipated his every need. He felt guilty, but she wouldn't hear of having him do a thing to help out around the apartment.

When he went back to work, he and Steve were given a short assignment, securing a payload of reverse-engineered Chitauri weapons. He was gone less than a week, but Monica still texted him at least five times a day, fussing and worrying over him. He smiled every time his phone went off, touched by her concern for him. He even managed to call her twice on Skype and she beamed when she saw him, safe and sound.

On Labor Day, both Steve and Bucky took the day off and the four of them all went to Coney Island together. They rode the ferris wheel and gorged themselves on hot dogs and cotton candy. As they walked down the boardwalk together, his arm around Monica, Steve's around Stacy, Bucky had to admit that it was one of the most idyllic days he'd ever spent.

The next day was the first day of the fall semester for Stacy and Monica got up early to see her off. Monica made pancakes and bacon and coffee for everyone. Steve planned to drop Stacy off at school on his way to the base. Bucky had the day off and was going to visit Mr. Johnson at the retirement center.

"You have an amazing day. You show those kindergarteners who's boss," Monica said, giving Stacy a big hug once they finished eating.

"I wish you were coming with me," Stacy said, her voice full of emotion.

"I'm good. Don't worry. I've got tons of job interviews for this week," Monica assured her and then waved good-bye to her and Steve and wished them a good day. Once they had left, Monica sank down on the sofa next to Bucky.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He knew that she often put up a good front for Stacy's sake.

"Yeah, sure," she lied before dissolving into tears. He moved to hold her, taking her in his arms as she sobbed.

"It's stupid," she began, her head on his shoulder as the mascara ran down her face. "I just feel like such a failure. Weeks of job searching and nothing. Now the whole semester's gone."

"Hey, don't say that. You'll get a job. You will. Look at me. It took me a while." He knew better than anyone just how tough the job market was. If it weren't for S.H.I.E.L.D., he might still be looking for work.

"Yeah, b . . . b . . . but . . ." she stuttered between sobs. "It's not fair to you."

"I'll be fine. I promise." Being married for a few more months to Monica was hardly a horrible fate.

00000

During the next few weeks, Monica went on a dozen job interviews. Every morning, she'd leave the house with a bright smile, clutching her teaching portfolio. But every evening, she'd return home, defeat and sadness tugging at her. It killed Bucky to see her so disheartened and he tried his best to lift her spirits when he could, playfully teasing her or telling jokes until tears rolled down her cheeks.

"No more high heels," Monica declared as she flopped dramatically onto the couch next to Bucky after one particularly long day of job hunting. She slipped off her shoes and began to rub her aching feet.

Bucky winced when he saw how red and sore they looked. He had no idea how women tottered around in those things. They looked incredibly painful. "Come here. Lemme at 'em."

"Really? You're going to give me a foot massage?" she asked eagerly as she scooched down to the opposite side of the couch and swung her legs up and onto his lap, modestly tucking the sides of her red skirt underneath her after it rode up a bit. She groaned softly as he kneaded her aching feet. "Mmm . . . that feels so good."

For a moment, Bucky bit his lower lip. If he were honest with himself, he'd imagined her saying those very words under very different circumstances.

Very different circumstances.

Friend or no, he was only human and having a lapful of a beautiful woman would be tempting for the most virtuous of men. And a seventy year dry spell wasn't helping.

"Do you two need some privacy?" Steve teased as he came out of his bedroom and saw the scene before him.

"Nah," Bucky said quickly, not wanting Steve to see how much he wished he hadn't have interrupted them. "Monica's feet were killing her."

"High heels are from the devil," she declared, waving over to the four inch spike heels that lay in front of the couch.

"And yet, you insist on wearing them," Bucky pointed out.

"'Cause they make my legs look good," she explained saucily.

"You don't need heels to do that," Bucky countered as his eyes raked over her form. Her legs were her best feature.  _Be honest. Everything's her best feature_ , he admitted to himself.

"That's why I married you, the endless compliments," she said with a wink, looking over at him.

"And here I thought it was so you wouldn't get shipped back to Spain," he teased.

"You're a man of many talents," she said with a giggle. "You can't blame me."

"And I thought me and Stacy were over the top," Steve snarked.

Bucky bit back a retort. Ever since he'd gotten shot, he and Monica had been nearly inseparable, spending every waking moment together when he wasn't working and she wasn't looking for a job. He knew he was playing with fire, blurring the line between friendship and something more, but after decades filled with pain and cruelty, the easy companionship and kindness were too heady to give up.

Monica swung her legs off of Bucky's lap and smiled up at Steve. "You and Stacy are over the top. Just how many 'I love you' texts do you send to each other every day?"

"Not that many," Steve protested. "A couple."

"Two dozen," Monica said. "I've counted."

"You've looked through Stacy's phone?" Steve asked, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning against the wall.

"She showed me," she said. "She was bragging about her 'perfect husband'." Monica gestured using air quotes to tease him.

"Well, I've got the perfect wife," Steve said with a confident grin.

"See, over the top," Monica said, sticking her tongue out at Steve as she stood up, scooping up her heels in the process. "I'm going to take a shower before dinner. Burgers sound good?"

Monica had taken to cooking every night for the last few months. The rest of her roommates had protested, but she had insisted, saying that it was the least she could to help contribute around the apartment. "They sound great. Thanks, Monica," Bucky said.

"Anytime, hero," she teased before walking to her room, her shoes flung over her shoulder.

Once she'd closed the door behind her, Steve sat down on the couch next to Bucky. "You know, I bet Fury'd give her a job. I mean, it's not like S.H.I.E.L.D. normally needs to hire elementary school teachers, but I'm sure there could be something she could do. Translating, interpreting . . . . She might be able to teach operatives Spanish to help them train for their field assignments," Steve offered in a low tone. "I know her job search is taking a lot longer than you guys expected."

"No. No S.H.I.E.L.D.," Bucky said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Although he believed in his work, believed in his mission, it made him uneasy to drag Monica into it. There was something about S.H.I.E.L.D. that still made him uncomfortable. Fury had a way of justifying even the most questionable ethical decisions. Having Monica mixed up with that . . . it just wasn't right.

"Yeah, I can see that. You know, Nat offered Stacy a job as an agent once."

"She did?"

"Yeah. Stacy's a good shot. But . . . shooting at a real, live person . . . I don't think she'd want to do that," Steve grimaced at the thought.

Bucky nodded, remembering Stacy and the night-night gun from when he first arrived. She'd said as much.

Steve grinned, slapping Bucky across the chest with the back of his hand. "I know. What about Tony?"

Bucky furrowed his brow. "What about him?"

"Well, you guys get along now, right?"

Bucky shrugged. "Yeah . . . . more or less." They'd had a few missions together since Bucky got out of the hospital and while they weren't best friends, they were starting to develop a good working relationship. He'd even worked on Bucky's arm again, improving the response time even more. Bucky could do without being called "Tin Man" every time Tony mentioned him on the comm system, but he figured that was just a part of being around Tony.

"He'd give her a job without a second thought. Heck, he owes you," Steve said.

Bucky winced. "Monica's gotten a lot better about it, but she's hardly his biggest fan. She's still uneasy around him. I can't see her wanting him as her boss. And you know how much she loves working with those kids at church. Have you seen how she's expanded the children's program? She's set up programs to provide free after-school tutoring for the neighborhood kids and free daycare for working parents. Could you imagine how much that would have helped our moms when we were kids? Monica's eyes light up whenever she talks about her work with the church. Having her stuck behind some desk at Stark Industries," he shook his head, ". . . that's just not an option."

Steve rubbed the back of his neck as he looked over at Bucky. "So, just how long are you two going to pretend at being married? The fall semester's already started. She'll be lucky to find a job by January for the spring semester. We're talking weeks, months more of pretending."

"I'm sticking with it as long as it takes, Steve. Till the end of the line," he said with a short bark of a laugh. "She's stood by me through everything. It's the least I can do." The idea of Monica being forced to work at S.H.I.E.L.D. or Stark Industries galled him. She was happy at the church, providing a real service for overworked parents. She was fulfilled and excited by her work. He didn't want to force her to take a job she'd hate just so that they could end their sham of a marriage.

Steve gave him a hard, long look, but ended up shrugging. "Fine. I just hope you know what you're doing."

"Probably not. You know me," Bucky said with a cocky grin.

Steve chuckled, punching him lightly on his right arm. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Your heart's too big, Buck. You can't save everyone."

Bucky played with his wedding ring, hanging on a silver chain around his neck. He couldn't let Monica down. Not after everything they'd been through. "I can sure try, though."

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Weeks passed and on one chilly October morning, they all received the same text from Erica.

_**In labor!** _

By that evening they were all crowded in a tiny hospital room with Michael and Josh. Michael's and Erica's parents and the rest of their family had just left and the group of friends stood in awe of the tiny baby in Erica's arms.

"How was it?" Stacy asked tentatively.

"Labor? Oh . . . Horrible. Seriously, it sucked. Pushing alone took me almost two hours," Erica said, wiping a hand across her forehead. "Worst. Pain. Ever."

They all winced in sympathy.

Michael put a hand on Erica's shoulder. "I know you two are superheroes and all, but Erica's . . . .," his voice caught and his eyes welled with tears as he stared down at his wife. "She's the strongest person I've ever met."

Both Steve and Bucky nodded, smiling at the exhausted woman in front of them.

"Can I . . . can I hold him?" Stacy asked, her arms outstretched.

"Of course," Erica said as Stacy leaned down to take hold of the boy.

"He's perfect," Stacy said, her eyes misty. "Just perfect."

Steve nodded. "A son."

Steve looked at the tiny infant in Stacy's arms and he wondered when they were going to be able to hold their own child. He had gone to his personal S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors a month ago to be tested. He was worried that somehow the procedure that he went through that transformed him had somehow affected his ability to father a child. But, after a battery of increasingly uncomfortable tests, he was cleared by the medical staff. Now that his assignments had been officially shortened, he and Stacy were going to try to start a family of their own. The doctors warned him that it was normal for most couples to take six months to a year to conceive, even if there were no fertility issues. He was trying to not to be impatient. But, the idea of having a child with Stacy consumed his every thought.

He looked over at Bucky and Monica, standing close together, Bucky's arms around Monica's waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. He didn't quite know what they were going to do with them. He tried not to think about it. Once Monica had a job and was back on her feet, perhaps she'd get her own apartment. And since Bucky worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. now, he was eligible to get his own apartment in the Tower. Having Bucky just down the hall wasn't as good as having him in the same apartment, but they'd adjust.

Steve sighed. A part of him wanted everything to stay the same. They were all happy together. They all got along so well. But, looking over at Stacy, her face full of tender wonder as she held the newborn, he knew that they were making the right choice.

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"Was that baby not the cutest little bundle of joy you'd ever seen?" Monica asked Bucky later on that night. They were watching T.V. together in the den while Steve and Stacy went out on a much needed 'date night' at Luigi's.

"Sure was," Bucky agreed.

"Did you see Stacy tonight? I think she's got a bad case of baby fever," Monica said.

Bucky reared his head back at the odd phrase. "Baby fever?"

"As in the wantsies. She wants to have a baby," Monica explained.

"Oh . . . . yeah. Well . . . that . . . that makes sense. They've been married over a year now," Bucky reasoned, but his stomach clenched a bit. He knew Steve would be an amazing dad. Now that his assignments were shorter, he and Stacy were finally getting a chance to reconnect. Starting a family together seemed like the logical next step.

But, a baby meant change. Change that Bucky wasn't ready to face. Everything was finally coming together for him. He felt like he was well on his way to becoming whole again. He looked over at Monica, snuggled up against him, her cheek resting on his shoulder.

Bucky reveled in their closeness. For decades while Hydra held him in custody, the only constant physical sensation he'd known was pain. Pain caused to punish him or simply out of neglect. Sometimes his handlers would forget to feed him or kept him strapped down until his muscles ached. The only time someone had ever touched him was to slap him, restrain him, or punch him.

But that had all changed. Ever since he came home from the base hospital, he noticed that he and Monica had gravitated towards each other. They'd hold hands in public to keep up the fiction of their marriage, but it started happening at home, too, when it was just the two of them. Monica would curl up beside him on the couch while watching T.V., resting her head on his shoulder even when they were alone.

A hug. A kiss on the cheek. Warm breath on his neck as she whispered in his ear. A hand on the small of his back. Little signs of sweetness and affection peppered throughout his day. He ached for them, like someone thirsting after water.

His nightmares had fled. Other dreams invaded his sleep.

Dreams of her.

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Ch. 35**

Bucky and Steve split the rest of October either leading raids on Hydra facilities or training recruits at the New York base. Bucky was torn; on the one hand, bringing down Hydra bases that were rife with stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. technology felt good, like old times. Him and Steve saving people, taking down the bad guys. He'd be lying if he didn't admit he got a bit of satisfaction out of seeing one Hydra base after another fall. Payback could be sweet.

On the other hand, while training new S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives in New York was a bit on the mundane side, it meant he was back at the apartment every night. Back with Monica. It felt warm and comfortable. It felt like home.

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"She's not gonna like it," Bucky said, surveying the restaurant, all decked out with twinkling lights, vases full of white roses, and balloons scattered throughout. Every table was covered with white tablecloths and elaborate centerpieces. To one side of the restaurant was a long buffet line, full of piping hot Italian food. There were chafing dishes brimming full of garlic bread, chicken picatta, porcini mushroom ravioli, spaghetti and meatballs, chicken parmesan, lasagna, and manicotti. There were steaming tureens full of minestrone and Italian wedding soup alongside huge platters full of antipasto and green salads. A giant tiered cake sat to one side, decorated with white chocolate shavings.

"She's going to love it," Stacy insisted.

"She's my wife and I tell you, she's not going to like it," Bucky teased.

"Well, she's my best friend. And I've known her longer. And I tell you, she's going to love it," Stacy reassured him.

Bucky shook his head, having learned the hard way that once Stacy had gotten an idea in her head, she was tenacious and it was best to just keep out of her way. He thought she was wrong though.

Monica had gotten more and more depressed about her job search as the month wore on and Stacy had come up with an idea to perk her up. Normally an outgoing person with a raging social life, Monica had spent her nights holed up in the apartment, watching old movies with Bucky or desperately filling out job applications until the wee hours of the morning. Since Monica's birthday was the Saturday before Halloween, Stacy came up with a plan to hold a surprise birthday party. She roped Steve and Bucky into helping her. Unfortunately, as they sat down and ran through the numbers of how many guests they should invite, they quickly ran out room to have it in the apartment. From her friends at college and church and the retirement home, there were already over a hundred names on the list. So, Steve suggested a different venue.

Luigi's, Tony Stark's restaurant.

Tony was eager to offer up his restaurant, free of charge and insisted on covering all the expenses for the food and decorations. Bucky knew that Tony wanted to smooth things over with Monica, especially after her reaction to him at the hospital. Bucky was a bit pessimistic about how she was going to take it that they had planned her birthday at the restaurant of a man that she was hardly fond of.

00000

Despite Bucky's concerns, the birthday party ended up going off without a hitch. Monica didn't seem to mind the venue at all and even hugged Tony when she thanked him for hosting it. She was moved to tears to see so many people who had come out to celebrate her birthday. There were well over a hundred people crowding the restaurant, from babies to senior citizens who'd been sprung from the retirement center for the night.

The table set up with gifts was almost groaning from the effort of holding up so many presents. She didn't want to open them all up in front of everyone, but Stacy insisted she open up a card from them. Monica began to cry when she read the thoughtful card and ran over and hugged Stacy tightly.

"It's a gift card. For that spa we all went to before my wedding. So you can treat yourself. You know, destress, get a massage," Stacy said, her grin widening.

"Gee, Monica, any time you want to get rubbed down, you just tell me," Bucky teased as the crowd around them laughed.

"Thanks, Stacy, Steve. I can't wait to use the card." She turned to her husband. "As for you, don't make promises if you don't intend to keep them," Monica replied saucily, kissing Bucky on the cheek.

"Believe me, I would have no problem keeping that promise," Bucky countered, giving his wife the once-over as she bent down to pick up another gift.

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Once all the guests had left, Steve, Stacy, Monica and Bucky stayed behind, loading all the gifts into the car. In between loads, Bucky motioned to Tony and he came over, hands in his pockets, a grin on his face. "Thanks, Tony. I mean it," Bucky said, holding out his hand.

Tony shook it warmly. "Anything to get into your wife's good books."

"Still . . . I appreciate it. Especially after everything," Bucky said. "You made Monica's night."

"Hey, you saved my life. If that bullet would have hit me, I would have been a goner. After everything I put you through, you still looked out for me. That's the stuff heroes are made of," Tony said.

"I'm no hero," Bucky protested.

"Hey, I don't throw that word around lightly. I know I gave you a bad time and I'm sorry about that. But, I don't blame Bruce for what he did as the other guy. So how could I blame you? And I've seen you, Barnes. How many lives have you saved in this past month alone? If that isn't a hero, what is?"

Bucky wanted to argue, but came up short. "Thanks."

"Look at me, getting all sentimental. Pepper would have a field day if she found out."

"She sounds like a wonderful woman," Bucky commented.

"She is. Hey, you guys doing anything on Halloween?"

Bucky shrugged. "Handing out candy at the church. But, that wraps up around eight. Why?"

Tony's grin broadened. "Tower Halloween party. Costumes are mandatory."

Bucky groaned softly. "No way am I wearing a costume."

"Yeah. Hate to break to ya, but you wear one every day at work," Tony sniped.

"That's a uniform!" Bucky protested.

"You keep telling yourself that, buddy." Tony gave him a wink and a nod before turning around and heading back to the kitchen.

"It's a uniform!" Bucky yelled after him, but Tony had already left the room.

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Steve and Stacy went to bed early that night, leaving Monica to marvel over all the gifts she'd been given. Bucky was in her room, helping her organize the huge pile that was strewn all over her bed.

"Seriously, Bucky, you should have seen Mr. Johnson light up when I opened it, "she said, waving to intricate silver jewelry box that she had placed on her dresser. "It belonged to his wife. Everyone's been so generous. I can't believe it. I'm so blessed to have such wonderful friends."

"Monica, . . . about your gift . . ." he began.

She gave him a big grin, shaking her head. "Don't worry about it, Bucky. I know you did all the planning with Steve and Stacy. Honestly, you didn't have to get me anything."

"I got you something," Bucky insisted, a bit upset that she assumed he'd forgotten. He took the wrapped box out of his suit jacket, handing it over to her.

She opened the gift carefully, her eyes widening as she saw what lay inside. "What . . . what is that?"

"It's a diamond ring."

"Yeah . . . I get that. Why are you giving me a diamond ring?" she asked, staring at him.

Bucky looked down, scratching the back of his neck. "Gee . . . I don't know. You're my wife and all. And I know it's all fake. But it didn't seem right. You just sporting a cheap silver band that Stacy picked up since I didn't even think to get you a wedding ring. So, I thought that I'd get you a little something."

Monica examined the white gold ring that matched her wedding band perfectly, biting her lower lip. "This is more than a little something. This is an engagement ring. It's got to be worth more than a year's rent at my old place, Bucky. It's not like we're going to be married that much longer. Then what?"

"About that . . ." Bucky paused, groping for the right words as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Monica, you got to stop putting yourself through the wringer trying to get a work visa. You're killing yourself. You hardly sleep. You're depressed. You're barely holding on."

"I need to find a job," she replied stubbornly, snapping the box closed. She crossed her arms and clenched the box in her fist.

"I know. I know. But, why don't you take a break?"

"How exactly am I going to get a work visa if I take a break from looking for a job?" Her voice was wavering and Bucky could see her fighting back the tears.

"Look, it's not like either of us is going anywhere. What does it matter if it takes you an extra month or two? I really think you should focus on the kids' ministry. That's where you come alive. You always talk about people having God-given gifts in different areas, right? Well, yours is working with kids. Don't you have the trick or treating at the church coming up? And the Christmas pageant? You've added three new tutors and five childcare workers this month alone to all the other work you're doing. At the end of the day, what's more important, your work at the church or trying to find a job?"

"That's a low blow, Barnes," she said with a chuckle, uncrossing her arms, the tension melting from her body. "Of course, you're right; the children's ministry should be my main priority."

He smiled, knowing that her devotion to the church would ultimately win out. "So, you'll relax a bit? Take a step back from pushing yourself so hard? Just focus on one thing at a time?"

"Even if it means you'll be stuck with me a while longer?" she asked, peering at him intently. "No job means no work visa and no annulment."

"I'll survive," Bucky scoffed. "So, you'll do it? Lay off the job search and just concentrate on the kids' ministry?"

Monica nodded. "Thank you. For the ring. For being so understanding. For making this the best birthday ever. I know I say this a lot, but you really are the best."

"Right back at ya. Now, let's get that ring on you," he said.

She opened the box and he took out the ring. He slowly slipped it on her finger, nestling it up against her silver wedding band. He held her hand a moment, beaming at her. "Now, that looks the way it should be."

00000

By Halloween, Monica was almost back to her old self. She was no longer anxious, no longer sporting the tired, defeated look she usually wore after receiving yet another polite, but stilted rejection when she tried to get a position. She was bouncy and cheerful and her enthusiasm was infectious.

So infectious that she had roped not only Bucky, but also Steve and Stacy into helping with handing out candy at the church during the early evening.

"I can't believe that we're wearing matching costumes," Bucky groused, tugging on what he was wearing.

"We're married. Of course we're wearing matching costumes," Monica chided gently. "I'm so happy that my hair's finally long enough to put into pigtails. And look how toned my arms are because of my awesome physical trainer," she said, flexing her arms for Bucky, proud of how far she'd come under his tutelage. She smoothed down her dress. "So, do I look like Dorothy?"

Bucky's eyes raked over Monica's dress. "That's not exactly the outfit I remember from the movies."

"What do you mean? This an exact replica", Monica protested, tugging at the outfit.

Bucky stared at his wife's curvaceous figure. "Well, let's just say, it looked different on Judy Garland."

"Now you're just being silly," she replied. "Are you okay playing the Tin Man?"

Bucky looked at his costume, feeling a bit ridiculous. Still, he had to admit, he fit the part. And seeing Monica beam when he wore it made the whole experience a bit more bearable. The silver make-up however, was a little too much for his liking.

"I just need a heart," he teased as he thumped his chest, earning a giggle from his wife.

"I'm living proof that the Tin Man has a heart. All the things you've done for me," she replied, giving him a hug, careful not to smudge his make-up.

"This is not fair," Steve moaned as he emerged from his bedroom, sporting his costume.

Bucky doubled over in laughter when he saw what Steve was wearing. "Oh, if the Howling Commandos could see you now!"

"It was either this or the Cowardly Lion," Steve admitted.

"You chose poorly," Bucky sniped, quoting their newly favorite Indiana Jones movie.

"A group of gals at the church wanted to dress up like Disney princesses for the kiddos. Stacy got roped in. She's Aurora," Steve explained.

"And you're Prince Philip," Monica supplied, grinning at his costume. "Well, you look great."

Steve pulled at his leggings which were riding up in a most uncomfortable way. "I thought I gave up wearing tights when I stopped selling war bonds."

"I gotta get a photo," Bucky said, dashing into his room to grab his phone.

"Fine," Steve called after him. "But if this ends up on the Internet, I'm putting you back on KP duty," he growled.

00000

As they handed out candies to the children at church later on that evening, Bucky kept sneaking glances at his wife. He couldn't have been prouder of her. Every few minutes, another parent would come up to her and give her a tearful hug, profusely thanking her for her work with the tutoring program, the daycare, or the Sunday school. He smiled, glad he had urged her to take a break from the job search. Her gift of working with children was amazing to see in action.

Steve and Stacy dutifully posed in dozens of photos with the costumed children, grinning so much that Bucky was sure that their faces were sore. As much as Steve didn't like being the center of attention, he practically glowed around the kids, signing autographs for those who knew him as Captain America.

Bucky clenched his jaw, staring at Steve. He knew that he and Stacy were trying to start a family. Seeing his best friend surrounded by little kids and enjoying himself made Bucky feel bad. He knew Steve would make an amazing father. But, in his heart of hearts, he didn't want anything to change. He'd tried to go through the math, figure out what would happen when Stacy made the happy announcement. Of course, he'd offer to move out. But what about Monica? Pretending to be married only worked if they both lived together.

He sighed and plastered a fake smile on his face as he handed out yet another piece of chocolate to an adorable tot. There wasn't much use in trying to predict the future. When he walked in Steve's apartment in January, the last thing he thought was that he'd end up married. You never quite knew what the future was going to bring.

00000

When they arrived back at the Tower, Tony's party was in full swing. Steve steered them over to the bar area where Tony and Pepper were having an animated conversation with Betty and Bruce.

"So, you're Belle," Stacy said to Betty after the round of introductions had finished, giggling at having another Disney princess in the mix. "We could have used you earlier. We had a Tiana, an Elsa, an Anna, an Ariel, a Snow White, but no Belle."

"Put me down for next year," Betty said, twirling around in her voluminous dress. In her heels, she was at least four or five inches taller than Bruce.

"So that makes you . . ." Steve began, giving Bruce a big grin.

"The Beast. Get it? Beauty and the Beast. I told Betty I could have just transformed into the other guy. Would have saved us a ton on the costume," Bruce said, tugging at his outfit, obviously uncomfortable.

"Matching outfits," Steve observed with a raised eyebrow.

"Laugh it up, Prince Philip," Bruce snarled good-naturedly.

"Considering how long coma boy was out, shouldn't he be Sleeping Beauty?" Tony snarked at Steve.

"Ha, ha, Tony. You're hilarious," Steve deadpanned.

"I try to be," Tony said, polishing his nails on his soft gray fur of the wolf suit he was wearing, blood splatter covering half his outfit. Pepper was wearing short peasant dress, paired with heels and a red cape. She was swinging a fairly impressive ax back and forth, smeared with the same type of fake blood.

"So you're the Big, Bad Wolf?" Monica asked Tony.

Tony nodded. "Yep, and Pepper's . . ."

"A werewolf hunter," Pepper interjected with a twinkle in her eye. "I heard about Tony's Hugh Hefner outfit a few years ago and decided it was payback time."

"And you're the Tin Man!" Tony said as he took in Bucky's outfit, walking around him to get the full effect. "I love it, man!" He gave Bucky an enthusiastic pat on the back.

"I knew you'd enjoy it," Bucky said ruefully.

"Where are Clint and Natasha?" Steve asked, peering out at the crowded room full of guests. "I haven't seen them."

"You know Clint. He has to make an entrance," Tony said drolly.

"Don't let Nat catch you saying that, she'll take you down," Bucky warned. He'd been on enough raids with Natasha to know that she was fiercely protective of her husband.

"I'll take him down for saying what?"

They all turned around to see Natasha and Clint side by side, wearing identical Robin Hood costumes, complete with functional bows and arrows.

"Shouldn't you be Maid Marian?" Tony snarked.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and gave him a cool grin. "You should know by now. I don't ever play a damsel in distress."

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As the party wound down, Steve and Stacy slow danced together. He reveled in having his wife in his arms, glad for the moments of closeness. He was so happy that he'd insisted on reducing his work schedule. He'd missed having time to connect with her and having two extra roommates made it more than a challenge at times.

"How're you doing?" Steve asked as she sighed softly. He'd noticed she'd been a bit quiet during the party. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah. I guess. Just a bit disappointed. I . . . I just started my period. So, that's another month of trying."

"I don't mind the trying," Steve said rakishly, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, rubbing her back to comfort her. "I kind of enjoy that part."

"Me, too. Believe me, I do. I just wish . . ."

"I know. I do, too," Steve said, gently cupping her cheek and kissing her. "We've got plenty of time to start a family."

She nodded and laid her head against his chest as they swayed slowly to the music. Steve looked over at Bucky and Monica, similarly entwined at the far corner of the makeshift dance floor. "Stacy?" he asked.

"Mmmm?" She lifted her head and looked up at him.

"Do you still think that they think of each other as brother and sister?" Steve asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Stacy snorted as she looked over at Bucky and Monica. "Honestly, I have no idea. I've given up trying to figure them out."

"You sure?"

"Yep. Monica just tells me everything is fine and changes the subject whenever I bring it up."

Steve wanted to press Stacy, but he knew that she'd never betray a confidence from Monica, so he decided to drop it. He had enough to worry about.

00000

The next morning, Steve and Monica were both up earlier than their respective spouses and started cooking breakfast together. Once the coffee had been made and they'd both settled down to the kitchen table with the first cup, Monica bit her lower lip and gave Steve a hesitant smile.

"I was wondering . . . who gets custody of Bucky for Thanksgiving?"

"Custody?" Steve asked, finding the phrasing a bit odd.

"As his best friend, practically his brother, I know you want to celebrate with him, take him with you when you go to Michigan to visit Stacy's parents," she said before taking a sip of coffee and warming her hands on the mug.

"Well, sure," Steve said. He'd been looking forward to introducing Bucky to his in-laws. Tony had already offered his private jet once again, by way of extended apology. Steve had the whole time planned out, including sticking Bucky in the den with the tortuous foldout couch. They'd chop wood for Stacy's dad, even go down to the gun range with him. Steve was looking forward to having Bucky try some of Stacy's mom's apple pie, hoping to evoke some more pleasant memories of the past.

"But . . . he is technically my husband. If we don't spend a major holiday together . . . it's going to look weird. I mean, what would INS say?"

Steve wanted to protest. He was sure that Bucky's deal with Fury meant that the immigration department would never look into their marriage scam. But Bucky had made him promise not to say anything. "I guess . . . I guess you're right," he relented.

Monica looked triumphant. "So, it's settled. Bucky will come with me and we'll have Thanksgiving at my aunt and uncle's house."

Steve nodded. "Sure. It makes sense."

As Monica stood up and walked to her room, Steve shook his head. Spending the holidays with your in-laws was a big deal. He remembered his first Thanksgiving at Stacy's family home. It was where he decided to propose. Steve sighed. He had a bad feeling that Monica and Bucky were both playing a dangerous game of chicken, toying with each other's emotions. He was worried that one of them was eventually going to get hurt, that all of this pretending to be married was going to cause some real problems. He'd tried to talk to Buck about it again and again, but he just shrugged Steve off, assuring him that they were just friends and that they both knew what they were doing.

Steve sure hoped he was right.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- As you all know, I am a big fan of the "slow burn" in romance. If you'd like to read something a bit quicker, or if you'd just like to pass the time until the next update, you can check out my Steve Rogers/OC story, " **Information"**. It's complete and I really think you might like it. Let me know if you get a chance to check it out!

Also, if you haven't watched "Sleeping Beauty" lately, Google an image of Prince Philip. Now, imagine Steve Rogers wearing that costume. Priceless!

 


	36. Chapter 36

Author's Note- This chapter that is a bit more T-rated than the rest of the story. The first three paragraphs reference child abuse. Normally I don't include anything evenly mildly risque, but there's also a short scene that's slightly suggestive at the end of the chapter. It's still T-rated, I promise.

**Ch. 36**

Bucky sat in the passenger seat of Steve and Stacy's car, staring out the side window at the light dusting of snow on the streets. He was trying not to fall asleep. The heater was on high and he could barely keep his eyes open. He had just gotten back the night before from a mission on the other side of the world, taking down a Hydra facility that was trying to engineer super soldiers via youth indoctrination and training, reminiscent of the Red Room program that Natasha had gone through. She had been flawlessly professional as she helped cleared the base and they were able the secure all the children, the youngest barely four years old. However, Natasha had broken down once they had gotten back to base and Fury had granted her request for a short sabbatical.

Bucky had thought he had seen the worst, but the glassy looks on those young children's faces haunted his nightmares. He'd read the files about the Red Room program, but to see a similar attempt at creating assassins from birth was sickening. He had no idea how Natasha even functioned after growing up in such a wretched place. Steve had cried as he went through the Hydra files that detailed exactly what had been done to the children, how they had been viciously trained and manipulated. As he thought of starting his own family, the idea of Hydra using children to further their goals had made him ill.

The mission had lasted longer than expected as child psychologists had to be flown in to help with the kids. Steve and Bucky stayed a week beyond the initial assignment date just to make sure the children were settled before returning home. Given that Hydra kept meticulous records of their indoctrination program, there was hope that the children would be able to receive the counseling they needed and they could be returned to their relatives. Bucky knew he was cutting it close, but he'd told Monica he'd be back in New York in time for Thanksgiving dinner with her aunt and uncle and he wasn't about to go back on his promise.

It wasn't a long drive from the Tower to her relatives' house in Brookhaven, Long Island. Even with traffic, they'd get there in less than two hours. Bucky had asked Monica why this was the first time she'd visited them all year, but she'd just shrugged and said that they weren't that close. He knew that she was devoted to her parents, talking to them on the phone or via Skype every week.

But, Monica seemed ambivalent about her aunt and uncle. They were only going to stay Thanksgiving night and head back to the Tower on Friday. Bucky offered to stay longer, but Monica shook her head, stating that one night at her relatives' house was enough.

"Are you falling asleep on me, Bucky?" she teased as his eyes fluttered closed.

"No. Yes. Sorry. Time change," he said by way of apology. She had asked him about his mission, but he didn't want to burden her with what he'd seen. He didn't want to her to worry. Instead, he passed his tiredness off as jetlag instead of a lack of sleep because of nightmares.

"Well, go ahead and get some shuteye. My aunt and uncle . . . they can be difficult. You'll need all your strength."

00000

Monica's aunt and uncle's house was a large four bedroom house full of gleaming marble tiles and polished hardwood floors. It was done predominantly in red and black in an Art Deco style that made Bucky's mouth twitch into a half-grin.  _It seems that everything old is new again_ , he thought as he saw the 1920s style throughout the house.

"Do you like the radio?" Monica's aunt asked Bucky as she waved to it, sitting on a curio cabinet in the living room. It was from the 1930s, reminding Bucky of his youth and nights spent in front of the radio, avidly listening to "The Shadow" or "The Lone Ranger". It had been beautifully restored and Bucky was sure that it had cost a mint.

"It's real nice ma'am," he said respectfully. He liked Monica's aunt. She was tall, like Monica, and could pass as her older sister. She had been kind and welcoming as she showed them around the house and Bucky wondered why Monica didn't visit more often.

"And you two have the guest bedroom," her aunt said, opening the door to the last bedroom, with a full sized bed, a small desk and chair, and a bookcase overflowing with paperbacks. "The bed's a little cozy for two people, but since you're newlyweds, I'm sure you won't mind."

"Thanks for putting us up," Bucky said as he eyed the bed, putting his and Monica's bags on the red bedspread.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you after all of these months," she replied pointedly. "We would have loved to have met you sooner. Or been invited to the wedding."

"Do you need help with the food? Bucky's a great cook," Monica boasted.

Bucky cocked an eyebrow at the false praise. While he'd come a long way in the past months, a chef he wasn't.

Her aunt's eyes lit up. "Really? I'd love some help."

Monica winked at Bucky.  _She knew just how to get on her aunt's good side_ , Bucky thought.  _I hope her uncle's that easy._

00000

Thanksgiving dinner started around six that evening when Monica's uncle came home. He worked at the local college and he had wanted to finish grading some papers "in peace and quiet", as he explained when he arrived. He was taller than Bucky and so thin as to be easily described as gaunt. His thinning dark hair was combed awkwardly to cover an ever expanding bald patch at the top of his head.

Bucky and Monica helped her aunt bring all the dishes full of food to the table. Although there were only four of them, there was enough food for twice that many. Monica had told Bucky that they had two grown children who lived on the West Coast, but who could only make it home for Christmas. Monica had taken to celebrating Thanksgiving with them so that they wouldn't feel quite so alone on the holiday.

Her uncle stood to carve the turkey, heaping huge slices onto the plates as they were passed around. There were mashed potatoes and gravy, baked yams, fresh green beans, cranberry sauce, and baked rolls. Once everyone's plate was piled high, Monica's uncle picked up a fork and dove in. However, her aunt cleared her throat noisily and gave him a stern look. Her dropped his fork and harrumphed.

"Would you like to say grace?" her aunt asked Bucky, giving him a warm smile.

"Uh . . . sure." Bucky bowed his head. "Thank you, Lord, for this food, for family, for friends." He thought of the missions he'd been on and recovering from that bullet wound. "Thank you for Your protection." He thought about his wife, seated next to him. "Thank you for Your blessings. Amen."

"Amen," her aunt and Monica said.

Her uncle just rolled his eyes. "So, how's the job search?" he asked Monica as he grabbed a roll and buttered it.

Monica gritted her teeth, setting down her fork. "I'm taking a little break right now. Focusing on my work at the church," she admitted.

"The church? That job you don't get paid for?" her uncle scoffed. "You go through how many years of college and then squander your talents. What a waste of an education. What's the use of going to school if you're just going to fritter away your life like that?"

"With all due respect, sir, Monica's not squandering anything. She's helping out a lot of people," Bucky said, his body tensing at having his wife attacked like that.

Monica slipped a hand under the table and squeezed his hand tightly, flashing him a grateful smile. Bucky calmed, not wanting to make a scene at her relatives' house. Still, having her uncle lay into her like that was difficult to take.

Her aunt cleared her throat. "Such a quick wedding. We didn't even know you were dating," she observed, trying to ease the tension.

"And by the looks of it, you didn't have to get married," her uncle added acidly, staring at Monica's stomach.

" **Tío**!" Monica exclaimed as her cheeks began to turn red.

"What? We were all thinking it when we heard the news. I was sure that there was a baby on the way," her uncle replied. "I told your aunt that."

"Well, there isn't," Monica insisted.

"I know. I can tell," her uncle replied archly.

"So, what kind of work do you do?" her aunt asked Bucky in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

"I work for S.H.I.E.L.D." Bucky was glad that he didn't need to hide who he was. Monica's relatives knew about Steve being Captain America and she'd explained that something similar happened to Bucky without going into too many details.

"Are they still around? I thought they got disbanded," her aunt said, her brows knit.

It was a common misconception. "No, ma'am. They're still around."

"Must've doing pretty good for yourself to be able to afford a ring like that," her uncle observed, waving at Monica's engagement ring.

"I do alright," Bucky said modestly. The truth was, with his military benefits and current S.H.I.E.L.D. pay, he was doing more than alright, but he didn't feel the need to brag.

"And yet you can't afford a place of your own. Sponging off your friend and his wife. In my day, a man made sure he could provide for his wife before he got married," her uncle replied.

"We like living with Steve and Stacy. We're best friends," Monica protested.

Her uncle looked over at her and shook his head dismissively. "You keep telling yourself that."

"So, how do you like the turkey?" her aunt interjected, placing her hand atop her husband's and squeezing tightly.

"It's wonderful, ma'am. Thank you so much for cooking," Bucky said, glad to talk about something else. He shoveled some mashed potatoes in his mouth, trying to focus on the positive. The truth was what Monica's uncle said stung him more than he cared to admit. He actually agreed with him in that if they were really married, he probably would want to have their own place.

"I always worry about it drying out," Monica's aunt said, a wan smile on her face.

"You did great. As always," Monica's uncle said reassuringly. "Best cook there is."

000000

"I'm sorry. About my uncle," Monica said once they were back in their room. The rest of Thanksgiving dinner had been uneventful as her aunt tried her best to steer them away from any other hot topics. They had all watched an old movie together in the family room and things seemed to be a bit less tense by the time Monica and Bucky decided to head off to bed. "Now you know why we're only staying one night."

"It's okay. You can't choose family. I had a cousin when I was a kid. A real jerk. He punched Steve once, gave the poor kid a bloody nose. So, I thrashed him within an inch of his life. My ma yelled at me in front of my aunt, but when we got back home, she baked me some cookies. She always liked Steve." Bucky chuckled. He hadn't thought about that in years. He remembered cringing when he got home, ready for his mother to yell at him once again, but instead she crouched down and told him he did the right thing. She told him that she was proud of him for protecting Steve. He gave Monica a reassuring smile. "You can't help who you're related to."

"Thanks for understanding, Bucky. They're not all bad. When I first moved here, I came here almost every weekend from college. But, my uncle can be a little hard to take and I stopped coming around so much. I think it hurt their feelings." She yawned. "Well, I should get changed for bed," Monica said, scooping up her overnight bag and heading off to the bathroom down the hall.

Bucky watched her leave and then quickly changed into a pair of sweats and a soft, gray T-shirt. He looked at the comfortable full-sized bed wistfully. Of course, he was going to be a gentleman and take the floor. Sharing a bed that small with Monica was more temptation than a man should have to deal with. He'd deal with a night of uncomfortableness on the floor rather than make any waves.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Monica sauntered into the room wearing a short red satin nightgown that hit her mid-thigh. It skimmed her body, displaying every curve. His eyes widened as she came towards him and he swallowed hard.

"You like?" she asked as she twirled around in front of him. "Stacy suggested I get something that looked like it belonged to a newlywed for this trip. You know, to convince my aunt and uncle that we're really married. Sweats and a T-shirt don't quite cut it."

"I like," he growled as his eyes traveled her form and every half-formed fantasy he ever had of her came roaring back to life. In an overwhelming instant, he desired her, needed her, like he had never wanted any woman before in his life. He wanted to lose himself in her arms.  _No, that isn't right_ , he realized. He wasn't searching for oblivion; he was aching for completion. He wanted to find himself in her arms.

"You know, on second thought, it's an awfully big bed just for one person, darling. And I am your husband . . .," he gave her the puppy dog eyes as she drew closer, the look that Bucky remembered working on women before. He patted the bed next to him with his left hand. Then, he smiled up at her and ran a finger down her bare arm, looking up at her expectantly. "And you are my wife."

Monica leaned down, her lips inches from his. "Ay,  **mi amor** , you don't get to have me unless you intend on keeping me. Do you really want to be with me until death do us part?" And, although her tone was saucy and light-hearted, she was staring at him with a mixture of longing, hope, and vulnerability. Completely open. Completely trusting him.

Bucky looked up at her, understanding the meaning underneath her words. If they slept together, that was it. Him and her forever and ever. The crossing of the Rubicon. No more playacting. No more pretending. No more "what ifs". Monica would be his wife in every sense of the word. He already knew she would stand by him no matter what. He was sure that she would someday even grow to love him.

And, he realized with a jolt that he already loved her. He couldn't pinpoint the moment when it started, but he loved her with a fierceness that shocked him. Every moment that they spent during the past eleven months came rushing in at him and each one was testament to how he felt about her. He couldn't believe how he hadn't seen it before.

He just needed to say three little words and it'd all be over.

Then, the voice returned. The voice that had haunted him for months. The voice that had been silent for weeks.  _You selfish monster. You say you love her? You tell her that and you're going to doom her to a life tied to a broken man whose hands are drenched in blood. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve redemption. You don't deserve forgiveness. You don't deserve happiness. There's no happy ending for someone who's done what you've done. No matter what you do from here on out, no matter how many times you play the "hero", you can never bring back the lives you've taken. She deserves someone better. Someone who doesn't know what it's like to shoot a woman, what it's like to choke the life out of one. You sick, twisted degenerate. You damaged, broken thing. You grotesque abomination. You ruin everything you touch. You destroy everything around you. You can't drag her down with you. You can't shackle her to a monster for the rest of her life._

Bucky quickly looked down, unable to meet her steady gaze, not able to say anything as the guilt and shame clawed at him, dragging him under, making him feel like he was drowning. He gripped the edge of the bed so hard he thought he was going to rip the mattress as his emotions warred inside him.

She gave a soft sigh. "That's what I thought." He felt her lips graze his forehead in a tender kiss. "It's alright. You can have the bed. I'll take the floor."

"No," Bucky said firmly, fighting for control, not wanting Monica see how upset he was. "I'll take the floor." He got up abruptly, grabbing a pillow and one of the blankets, dumping them on the floor next to the bed.

"Are you sure?" Her voice was full of worry and concern.

"Yes," he said roughly, not trusting himself to say anything else as he laid down on the ground between the bed and the door.

She sighed once again as she settled on the bed, arranging the bedcovers around her before switching off the lights. "Good night, Bucky."

"Night," he replied, wrapping the blanket tightly around him.

It was a long night for Bucky and sleep came in fits and starts, providing no rest at all.

* * *

A **uthor's Notes** -

Rough Spanish translation -

Uncle

my love

 


	37. Chapter 37

 

 

 

**Ch. 37**

Despite his rocky night, Bucky woke up the next morning in the nicest way possible.

With Monica snuggled up next to him, her body pressed against his.

"Good morning," he said, a sleepy smile engulfing his face as he turned to look at her. Despite the problems of the night before, he was more than happy to wake up that way.

"Morning," she replied, giving him a coquettish grin, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

And then he heard someone clear their throat rather noisily behind them, completely breaking the mood.

" **Lo siento**. Sorry. I just . . . I just wanted to tell you that breakfast was ready."

Monica rolled away from him and smiled up at her aunt who was framed in the doorway, wearing a pink, fuzzy robe and matching slippers. "Thanks,  **Tía**. We, um, . . . missed the bed." She waved to the blankets strewn across the floor.

Her aunt just shook her head, giving them a knowing smile. "It happens. Newlyweds and all." She sighed. "I'm sorry about your uncle last night. He just wants the best for you. But he doesn't always realize how he sounds." She gave them a wink. "Take your time getting ready for breakfast. We can always reheat it. "

"Thanks," Monica repeated as her aunt closed the door behind her.

Bucky was about to say something when Monica shot up, scrambling away from him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I heard her coming down the hall and I panicked, so I got off the bed and laid down next to you. I didn't want her to know . . ." she trailed off as she got up and grabbed a heavy terrycloth robe, putting it on over her short nightgown.

"It's fine. Really, it is," Bucky began as he sat up, his mind still clouded by the experience of being so close to Monica.

"No, it isn't. I wanted to apologize about last night. That wasn't right of me. I shouldn't have put you in that position. You've been nothing but kind to me and I shouldn't have pushed it."

"Monica, it wasn't your fault," Bucky said.  _It was mine. I shouldn't have hit on her. I let things go too far_ , he thought.

"Yes, it is. You've done so much for me already and there I was . . ." She shook her head. "It won't happen again. I promise." She took a deep breath, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. "Do you want the first shower?"

Bucky grimaced at the abrupt change of subject. "Actually, I would."

A very, very cold shower.

000000

As Bucky stood under the icy spray, he cursed himself for ruining a perfectly good trip. It was the first time he'd been alone, truly alone with Monica and he'd messed up. The guilty look on Monica's face made him feel like a heel. He had pushed things past the breaking point.

He got out of the shower and toweled off. He quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a warm blue Henley shirt, staring at himself in the mirror. He had to think of a way to smooth things over, get things back to the way they were before.

He knocked on the door softly when he returned to the room.

"Come in," she called.

He opened the door and saw her on the bed, her eyes bloodshot, curled into a ball, the comforter over her.

"Why are your eyes so red?" Bucky asked.

"I slept with my contacts in," Monica said quickly, looking down as she sat up properly. She took a deep breath and looked up at Bucky. "I meant what I said, Bucky. This whole situation hasn't been fair to you."

"It's alright," he insisted, hoping she'd just drop the subject.

"No, it isn't. Stacy was right. We shouldn't have gotten married. It was a bad idea from the start. We've been lying and deceiving people for months now. So, I'm going to fix this, now."

His heart sank. She was taking it even worse than he'd suspected. "How?"

She stood. "I'm getting a job. Any job. I'll even call Tony if it comes down to it. I'm getting you out of this as soon as possible."

His stomach clenched. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. I took advantage of you. Of our friendship. I bulldozed you into this whole sham of a marriage. And, it was wrong of me. Nothing good can come out of a deception like this. You deserve better. You deserve to be with a girl that you love." She gave him a brittle smile.

_No, I don't. After all I've done, I don't deserve anything_ , Bucky thought. He took a deep breath. "And you?"

She knit her brow. "What about me?"

"Are you going to find someone else?" It came out harsher than he'd intended as jealousy flared up inside of him. The idea of her in another man's arms . . . .

She shook her head, looking down. "Nah. I'll keep out of that for a while. You know me. I always go for the wrong guy." She gave him a sad smile. "I should take a shower. I'll see you in the kitchen."

She got up to go and Bucky almost reached out to stop her.  _It's better this way_ , he told himself as his fingers curled into a fist.

00000

The rest of the short visit was stilted at best. In front of her aunt and uncle, Monica was sweet and affectionate, but behind closed doors, she kept her distance. Bucky did the same, avoiding her at all costs. That avoidance tactic went on Friday afternoon and night as well as the whole of Saturday while they were back at the apartment together. They barely saw each other. Monica sat in her room, furiously firing off one email after another at prospective employers. Bucky roamed the streets near the Tower, oblivious of the cold. Moscow winters had been a lot more severe. He trudged through the light dusting of snow, hands shoved in his coat pockets, head down, not even paying attention to where he was going, just wanting to be as far away from the apartment as possible.

Steve and Stacy were back Saturday night, but Bucky didn't come home until well after they went to bed. He felt like in one move, he'd destroyed the precarious balance of their entire situation. He kept replaying the night again and again in his head.

A part of him knew it had to come to an end sooner or later. But, the idea of losing Monica felt like a knife twisting inside of him.  _You miserable cur. You don't deserve her. Let her go. Let her be happy with someone else. All you're good for is death and destruction. You'd be like a millstone around her neck, pulling her under._  He told himself it was fine, that he'd get over it.

He didn't believe himself.

00000

Bucky woke up the next morning to a pounding on his bedroom door. "Come on, Buck. It's nearly ten. We're going to miss the eleven o'clock service."

Bucky stretched and padded over to his bedroom door, opening it to see Steve there, a bright smile on his face. "You're awfully chipper," Bucky observed dryly.

"We had a great trip. Tons of good food. Got to see everyone. How about you?" Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged, not feeling like lying. "Not so great," he admitted.

"Why?" Steve asked.

Bucky couldn't bring himself to tell Steve what had really happened. "Monica's uncle . . . he's a bit much."

Steve gave him a sympathetic smile. "Yeah. I remember Monica mentioning that he was a tough cookie. Well, you're back here now." He clapped Bucky on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Bucky said unenthusiastically.

"Monica must've had nursery this morning. She's already left. We'd better get going to make it to service in time. We're assigned up to help with the tear down crew afterwards," Steve said.

"Okay," said Bucky, not really in the mood to go. He briefly contemplated ducking out on the service, but didn't want Steve to worry about him. He grabbed his towel and headed off to the shower, hoping he'd be in better spirits once he was done.

00000

Bucky was silent on the the ride to church, replaying Thursday night over and over in his brain, berating himself. They arrived early, getting seats next to Erica, Michael, and Josh while Stacy greeted. A few minutes before the service started, Monica sidled up next to him. Bucky offered her the seat next to him, but she shook her head.

"Oh, I went to the nine o'clock service. I'm going to help out in the nursery during this service."

_More avoidance_ , Bucky noted.  _How long is this going to go on?_

"But, I've got some good news."

"Good news?"

Monica gave him a small smile. "I sent an email Friday night to the lead pastor and then I left early this morning to meet with him before the nine o'clock service. We've gotten a lot more families attending since we've started all of the outreach children's programs. He said the church can bring me on full time in a paid position."

"Full time?"

"Yep. You know what that means?" Her grin broadened.

"What?" A sense of dread filled him.

She began bouncing on her toes a little, excitement filling her words. "The church will sponsor my work visa! As soon as the paperwork goes through, we can get an annulment. You'll be free. And I'll be making enough that I'll be able to move out. There's a friend of mine, here at church, Alice, who's looking for a roommate. It'll take a couple of months, but once I have enough saved up for the deposit and monthly rent, I can move in with her. It's closer to the church and well, . . ." she looked down a bit, playing with the hem of her shirt. "it'll be less complicated."

"That's . . . that's great. Good for you, Monica. Congratulations!" He gritted his teeth and decided to do the selfless thing. He'd encourage her to move on, sever ties with her and let her get on with her life. "I think you're right. It'll work out better that way. Moving closer to the church will make for an easier commute. It's a great idea."

Monica annulling their marriage.

Monica moving out.

His whole world crashing down.

It sure didn't feel like a great idea.

00000

Bucky was numb for the beginning of the service. He woodenly mouthed the words to the worship songs, barely registering the fact that the pastor took center stage and began addressing the congregation.

"Can you imagine a prisoner being told that their sentence has been commuted, that they can go home, and having that person say, 'No, thanks. I'll stay here.'?" the pastor asked goodnaturedly.

The congregation chuckled.

"It seems ridiculous, doesn't it? Who doesn't want to be free? But we do it everyday. Even after we're redeemed, it's hard to forget our past. It can haunt us. It can be a heavy burden that we can barely handle. Forgiveness is hard, but sometimes, forgiving ourselves can be the hardest."

"You know, in John 10:10, Jesus says 'The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.'"

"But sometimes, we don't see that. We get stuck remembering all the damage we've done to ourselves, to other people. We can feel caught, like we can't break free. Guilt and shame from the past weighs us down, kills our joy."

"When you hear poison, lies, and hatred, know that it doesn't come from God. When you hear a voice in your head telling you that you are worthless, that you are nothing, please know that it doesn't come from God. God loves you. He sacrificed His Son to redeem you, to rescue you. You have infinite value, infinite worth in God's eyes. Don't let anyone ever tell you any different."

"It can be trite, but there's a great saying, 'When the devil reminds you of your past, remind him of his future'." The pastor smiled at the crowd as a gentle laughter spread through the congregation.

His expression sobered as he looked at them earnestly. "God loves you. He has redeemed you. He sent His Son to give you life, so that you can live in the fullness and abundance that God wants for you. Your past is over, done. You have been rescued. The door to your prison has been opened. But you have to walk through that door. You have been set free. Don't live in shackles any longer."

"And when you feel that weight of the world pulling you down, ask yourself, is the voice you're listening to life-giving or soul-destroying? Because God, your Father in heaven, wants you to have an abundant life, a life full of joy and meaning. And that's the voice you should be listening to."

It felt like the ground was shifting under Bucky's feet. Like he could see clearly for the first time. Had he ever really left Hydra's captivity? If he let what he did as the Winter Soldier destroy the possibility of happiness with Monica, had he ever really escaped them?

For a moment, he thought of a future. A future he'd never dared imagined before. A future with Monica as his wife. His real wife. Starting their own family together. Truly being together.

A life full of joy and meaning.

A life blessed by God, free from his past.

Before he knew it, the service was over and he was following Steve to help with the tear-down crew to put away the equipment used for the service. Stacy had excused herself to go get Monica at the nursery, since they both were going over to Erica and Michael's apartment to help out with the baby while the couple had got some time alone.

"Buck, you okay?" Steve asked, concerned about the dazed look on his friend's face. Bucky had hardly talked since they arrived at church and he looked distracted and out of sorts.

Bucky remembered the last thing he told Monica and shook his head.

"I messed up, Steve. I messed up real bad."

* * *

Author's Note- I know that this is a bit of a shorter chapter, but hopefully, the quick update time will make up for it!

**Rough Spanish translation-**

**Sorry**

**Aunt**

 


	38. Chapter 38

**Ch. 38**

Steve's brow furrowed at what Bucky said. No wonder he seemed so upset. Steve put down the heavy speaker he was carrying. He waved over three other volunteers to take over the heavy lifting and then led Bucky to a small side room so that they could speak in private.

Steve closed the door behind them and gestured at Bucky to sit down on the large overstuffed chair facing the desk that dominated the room. It was an associate pastor's office, but Steve knew he was probably on his way home at the moment. They could talk in private with worrying about being disturbed.

Steve gritted his teeth. He knew that something was wrong that morning. Bucky should've been in a great mood after finally going on a trip alone with Monica. Steve remembered how he felt after that first Thanksgiving with Stacy and her family. He was on top of the world. Seeing Bucky so downcast that morning had worried him.

"What do you mean? What happened, Buck?" Steve asked once Bucky was seated, his head in his hands.

"When we were at Monica's aunt and uncle's house, we were sharing a bedroom and . . ." Bucky began, looking down, mumbling his words.

"Oh, no, Bucky," Steve groaned.

Bucky's eyes flew open and he shook his head. "No, it's not that. Nothing happened. That's the problem."

Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. "Well, then, I'm confused. What do you mean?"

Bucky swallowed hard and looked up at Steve. "Monica . . . she wanted to know if I wanted to be her husband. You know . . . for real."

For some reason, that didn't surprise Steve. He had a suspicion that Monica might have developed feelings for Bucky. It wouldn't be the first time a girl fell head over heels for his best friend. More than once a woman would come sobbing to Steve back in the day, devastated that Bucky had moved onto greener pastures. Monica and Bucky had been spending a lot of time together in the past months and it was easy to see how playacting as a couple could cause someone to get confused. "And you said no," Steve supplied, gesturing for him to continue.

"And I said no. But not because I didn't want to."

Steve shook his head. "Wait . . . what are you saying?"

"I love her."

Steve narrowed his eyes. Bucky had romanced half of Brooklyn in his time, but he'd never uttered the "L" word when referring to his numerous conquests. "You do? Are you sure, Buck?"

"As sure as I've ever been of anything in my whole life."

"So why did you say no?"

"Because even after everything . . . I still felt tied down from my past, what I did when Hydra had me. I didn't want her to be a part of that. She deserves better."

"Bucky . . ." Steve began in a pleading tone. If hurt him to hear Bucky say that nearly a year after he'd found his best friend on Skid Row, barely holding onto reality. He had hoped Bucky would have forgiven himself for what he did as the Winter Soldier. It's not like he had a choice in the matter.

"I know. I know. That sermon put it all in perspective."

Steve heaved a sigh of relief. The same thing had happened to Steve from time to time. He'd find himself struggling with something, only to have his eyes opened after listening to the pastor bring some things to light. He wasn't surprised that Bucky reacted that way, especially given how he struggled with letting go of his past. "So what now?"

"Well, you've seen how she's been since we got back. She feels bad. She thinks that she painted me in a corner and she blames herself. So, she's got an official job from the church now, full time. As soon as her work visa comes though, she's going to annul the marriage and move out. She's trying to back off, give me my 'space'. " Bucky's lip curled in disgust.

"And you hate it."

"I hate it," Bucky confirmed. "I just want to get us back to where we were before. I'm scared that if I tell her how I feel that she won't believe me. That she'll just think I'm saying whatever it takes to make her feel better."

"You know Stacy and I went through a rough patch right before we got engaged, right?" Steve said, shuddering as he remembered those uneasy days of tension and mistrust.

"Yeah," Bucky said. He'd heard the stories and was glad that it all worked out in the end for his friends. He wished he could be so sure of his relationship with Monica.

Steve leaned over, placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "No matter what I said to her, no matter how I tried to convince her, my actions spoke louder than my words. My advice is to try to build back up the friendship, that connection you two had. Spend time with her. Show her that you care for her. Words are just that . . . . words. Show her that you love her so that when you say the words, she'll believe you."

Bucky nodded. "You're right. I bet that'd work. But, now that she's got a job with the church, I'm afraid that her work visa'll come through too soon and wreck everything."

Steve grinned as he came up with an idea about how to solve Bucky's problem. "Leave that up to me," he assured him.

00000

"Let me get this straight. You want me to delay Barnes' wife's work visa."

Steve stood at attention in Fury's office, his back ramrod straight, shoulders squared. He felt uncomfortable going to his boss for help, but he didn't have a whole lot of options left. "Yep."

"Wasn't that the point of this whole thing?" Fury asked with an incredulous look. "Do you have any idea how many favors I had call in to get that taken care of in the first place? It's not like INS and SHIELD have a lot of departmental overlap. It took me a solid week to negotiate with those immigration officials so that they would look the other way when it came to Barnes' little marriage scam. And now, you want me to slow down his wife's work visa application?"

"Plans change, sir," Steve said.

Fury's eyes widened. "Oh, it's 'sir' now." He rolled his eyes. "Now, I know it's serious. Alright. I'll bite. Why?"

"He's going to woo his wife."

"Woo his wife?" Fury repeated, head cocked to the side.

"That's right, sir." Steve swallowed, feeling a bit disloyal by telling so much to Fury, but not having much choice in the matter. "He really loves her. He just needs a little time to prove it to her."

Fury pursed his lips together in an amused grin and nodded after a moment of contemplation. "Okay. I'll do it."

"You will, sir?" Steve kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Fury to extract some odious favor in exchange for helping them.

Fury shrugged and crossed his arms in front of him. "I'm not an unreasonable man. I was young once. Well . . . ." he said with a snort.

He gestured to Steve, who suppressed a laugh. Sometimes, he felt like he was still 17, wide-eyed and impossibly naive. Sometimes, he felt every single one of the ninety plus years that had passed since his birth.

Fury forged ahead. "Let's just say, I remember what it was like to fall in love. Everyone deserves a shot at true love, Cap. Seems like your friend had to wait long enough for it."

Steve heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks, sir."

Fury snorted. "You're welcome. You know, if someone had told me a year ago I'd be facilitating the love life of my would-be assassin, I wouldn't have believed it."

The irony wasn't lost on Steve. "If there's one thing I've learned, sir, it's that you can never predict the future."

Fury chuckled and shook his head. "Ain't that the truth."

000000

A few days later, Bucky got a knock on his bedroom door after dinner. He opened it to see Monica there, the weight of the world on her shoulders. Wordlessly, he waved her in and she slumped into the big gray chair to the side, her expression pitiful. "I'm so sorry, Bucky. I talked to the church today. The visa's taking a lot longer than they thought it would. Probably months longer," she said with a dispirited sigh.

 _Thank you, Steve_ , Bucky thought. He forced himself to frown and seem sympathetic. "Really? Well, I'm sure it'll go through eventually."

"Yeah, but . . .."

"But what?" Bucky asked.

"I called Alice. Told her I couldn't move out until I got my work visa and the annulment went through. She told me that she couldn't wait that long to get help with the rent. She's going to get another roommate."

Bucky tried to suppress a grin and failed miserably, forcing him to turn away from Monica to hide his delighted expression. "That's too bad," he managed. "Hey. Are you up for a movie? Steve and Stacy wanted to see the new James Bond film."

"James Bond? And that won't be a problem for you?"

Bucky shook his head. "Nah. After all the missions for S.H.I.E.L.D., a movie's not going to trigger me. I'll be fine. Especially with my best girl by my side."

Monica gave him warm smile, her spirits clearly lifted. "Well, then, sure, I guess."

000000

Bucky felt like a teenager in the movie theater, sitting next to a pretty girl, nervously trying to plan out his next move. He'd angled the seats just right with him and Monica at the end of the row, next to the aisle. Steve kept shooting him bemused looks, but Bucky did his best to ignore his friend.

Bucky yawned and slowly draped his arm along the back of Monica's seat, a classic tactic from his youth. She tensed for a moment, then leaned forward a bit to avoid touching him. It stung Bucky that a gesture that she'd welcomed just a few weeks ago set her on edge.  _Give it time_ , he told himself.  _Build it back up_.

During the trailers, he offered her some popcorn, a weakness of hers and she couldn't resist, their fingers brushing against each other as they dove in for handful after handful. Halfway through the movie, Monica sank back against his arm, her attention focused on the screen in front of her. By the end of the film, her head was resting on his shoulder, the way it always was when they watched a movie. Bucky couldn't help but smile in the dark.  _Slowly, but surely_ , he promised himself.  _Slowly, but surely_.

000000

"Ugh," Monica groaned as Bucky walked into the kitchen area the following Monday afternoon and saw her hunched over her laptop.

"More visa problems?" he asked softly, feeling a bit sorry for her as he headed for the coffee pot and filled his cup full. He saw how frustrated she'd been the past few days and felt more than a little guilty that he'd helped to slow down the process behind her back. On the other hand, the thought of her annulling the marriage and moving out was more than he could bear.

"No. Nothing like that. It's just . . ."

"What?" he asked as he drew closer.

"I've seen how hard it's been on Erica and Michael dealing with a new baby and I wanted to do something for all of the families in our church."

That sounded like his wife. He couldn't help but grin as he took a sip of the dark, rich brew. "And?"

"Well, I wanted to start free Friday night babysitting once a month for the couples at the church. Six to ten, the second Friday of the month. Give couples a chance to get some time alone, some time to reconnect."

"Sounds like a great idea," Bucky observed.

"You'd think so," she replied, blowing out a long breath in frustration.

"So, what's the snag?"

"Not enough volunteers. Not many people want to give up a Friday night to watch someone else's kids, especially on such short notice. It's my fault. I've got tons of volunteers for next month, but for this month . . . ." She sighed. "I didn't give people enough warning. I guess I'll just need to cancel it for this month."

Bucky smiled. "How many more volunteers do you need for this coming Friday?"

"At least eight more."

"Go ahead and keep working on it," Bucky assured her. "I'll rustle up the rest of the volunteers."

"Really?" she asked and her face lit up with hope.

"Anything for you, darling," he replied, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

As Monica turned back to her laptop, Bucky took out his cellphone.

_**-Avengers assemble.** _

000000

"I thought we were going to a bar," Tony groused as he looked out at the converted warehouse, dotted with children's toys. "I was promised alcohol and communion wine doesn't count."

The entire group had responded to Bucky's text and it had taken a bit of finagling (as well as a promise to buy the first round once their babysitting duties had finished), but they all dutifully showed up on Friday at the church by five-thirty that evening. The place had been cleared out and set up for watching kids by some of the younger volunteers. Each age group was separated by plastic interlocking fences that were waist high on the adults. The volunteers were each assigned a different age group.

There was an area for the babies with pack n' plays and automatic swings, strewn with soft blankets on the floor. There was an area for toddlers with brightly colored plastic toys. There was another area for preschooler crafts, full of brown paper bags, glue, string, glitter and markers to make puppets.

Bucky grinned at Tony's irascible attitude. "We are. Afterwards," he promised. "We're done here at ten. The bars will barely be filling up by then."

"So we're volunteering at church before we go out drinking. Isn't the penance supposed to happen after the sin?" Tony quipped, his arms folded in front of him as he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Pepper poked him in the ribs. "I think it's sweet," she said. "It'll be good practice for you."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Good practice?" His eyes widened and he took a step back. "Wait, is there something I should know?"

Pepper laughed, shaking her head at his antics. "No. But, in the future . . . someday . . . who knows?"

"Alright. Alright. I know when I'm beat," Tony said, putting up his hands in mock surrender.

"That'd be a first," Clint observed.

"You're loving this," Tony said. "Look, they even have an archery set in the corner. You're going to be a hit."

"Of course. Kids love me," Clint replied with a cocky grin.

"Kids love me more," Natasha teased. "My action figures outsell yours two to one."

"Thank goodness for community property," Clint said as he kissed his wife.

"The Hulk outsells them all," Bruce said. "I just think kids want to smash things."

"That's not why," Betty reassured him. "Scientists are in. Us nerds are cool." She gave him a fierce hug as he began to blush.

"Am I the only single person here?" Sam groaned as he surveyed the group. "I would have brought a date if I knew that was how it was going down."

"I've got a few of my single friends volunteering tonight," Monica assured him. "You're going to be quite popular."

"I knew I liked your wife," Sam told Bucky.

"Where do you want us to help out?" Steve asked.

"I thought you and Stacy could help out with the babies. Natasha and Clint can help with the older kids and the archery set. Bruce, Betty, Tony, and Pepper, I've got chemistry and mechanical engineering sets for the kids over there in the corner." Monica turned towards her husband. "Maybe you could help me with the toddlers?"

"It'd be my pleasure."

"And Sam, I thought you could help out Alice, Sandra, Michelle, and Bianca with the preschoolers," Monica said, waving to a group of attractive women in the preschooler section.

"Four to one," Sam grinned as he rubbed his hands together. "I like those odds."

000000

By the time the pizzas arrived at seven, Bucky was more tired than he'd thought possible. The toddlers were constantly getting into some trouble or another. They would fight over a toy or try to climb over the fence whenever his back was turned. All he felt like he was doing was averting one disaster after another.

The other Avengers seemed to be faring much better. The older kids were having a ball with the archery set with Clint and Nat was even showing them some self-defense moves on some tumbling mats they had found in storage. Bruce, Betty, Tony, and Pepper were entertaining the elementary school kids, their eyes in rapt attention as Tony described the principles behind the arc reactor and the clean energy it could provide. Sam was surrounded by four adoring volunteers as well as a gaggle of preschoolers as he told stories of being Falcon, complete with sweeping hand gestures. And Steve looked right at home with two babies strapped to him, one in a front carrier and one in back, as Stacy fed another infant a bottle in a rocking chair.

Bucky kept sneaking glances at Monica throughout the night.  _That's my wife_ , he kept thinking, pride swelling in him as he saw all that she had accomplished. Dozens of families had entrusted her with their children, and they were right to place their faith in her.  _She's going to make an amazing mother_ , he thought as he saw her crouch down and talk to a wayward two year old.  _We're going to make an incredible family_. He sighed.  _I just need to convince her of how I feel._

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Ch. 39**

By ten that night, Bucky was way past tired and venturing on exhausted. Being hypervigilant while caring for a dozen toddlers taxed even a supersoldier's abilities. He glanced over a few times at Steve and felt strangely satisfied to see his friend starting to lose steam, too. As he surveyed the room, he saw that he wasn't the only Avenger who was beginning to look weary.

Tony came up to him once all the kids had been returned to their parents, stifling a yawn. "So about that drink . . . Maybe we could take a raincheck. It's Pepper," he lied. "Dealing with all those kids . . . And she's got jetlag from coming out from the West Coast."

Bucky bit his lip, not wanting to point out that it was actually three hours earlier in California and that Pepper looked just as bright and crisp as when she arrived. "It's fine, buddy. Another time," he said, clapping Tony on the back. Tony had been the first Avenger to actually agree to help out and Bucky knew that he had texted the others and hectored them into agreeing. After everything, he considered Tony a friend and that was a blessing that Bucky never saw coming.

"You know me, I'm always up for a little alcoholic refreshment."

"I know." Bucky hesitated a moment. "Thanks. For helping out. We couldn't have done it without you guys."

"We're a team. We always have each other's backs. No matter what," Tony assured him. "Except babysitting. Seriously, Bucky, this is just a one time thing."

"He's kidding," Pepper said as she drew closer, placing a firm hand on Tony's shoulder. "We're more than happy to help out whenever you need it."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Alright. Alright. But let me bring the science stuff next time. I've got things in the lab that'll blow these kids' minds."

"No explosives," Pepper warned sternly.

"Killjoy," Tony groused goodnaturedly, bringing Pepper in for a kiss.

"I'd like to think I'm being practical," she replied. "One little mishap and all the PR in the world won't save you."

"Point taken," he agreed. He turned back to Bucky. "Rain check?"

Bucky looked around to the rest of the Avengers, all rubbing their eyes and stretching. "Definitely."

Tony nodded and turned to go, his arm around Pepper. Monica walked over to him, a sleepy grin on her face. "Are we going out?"

"Nah. I think everyone's beat. Wanna head home? Catch an old movie on T.V.?" Bucky offered.

"Music to my ears. Did you see Sam? He got all their numbers," she said, referring to the four volunteers in his group.

"He's quite the ladies' man," Bucky commented.

"I thought that was your title," Monica teased.

"Not anymore," he replied with a wink.  _I'm a one woman man_ , he thought

000000

Being called away on a mission while he was in the process of trying to win over Monica was the last thing that Bucky wanted. But, he couldn't refuse to go, not when Fury was doing all he could to delay Monica's work visa.

He could hardly focus on his mission. Every thought was consumed with Monica.

He felt irrationally angry at himself. Why hadn't he seen it earlier? Why didn't he realize it when Sam asked her out and he was bothered more than he should have been? When she could talk him into anything with merely a smile? When time and time again she sat by him, reassuring him, comforting him, while he drowned himself in his misery? He had wasted months, so wounded and in pain, not appreciating the amazing woman in front of him.

He thought of what his life would be like without her, if she really did annul the marriage and moved out. He'd stay at the apartment. Steve would be there, of course. Stacy would still be kind and gracious.

But all the color would drain out of his world.

Bucky texted Monica every spare moment he could. Teasing, bantering, anything to keep the lines of communication open. He worried when it took her too long to respond, his mind automatically going to every worst case scenario possible. Perhaps, the church had found a way to push the work visa through. Perhaps, she decided to look for yet another place to live.

Perhaps, some guy was trying to make time with his wife.

Jealousy was a new emotion to Bucky. Despite his time as a certified Lothario, breaking hearts throughout the five boroughs, he'd never felt the least bit worried or insecure that his conquests were stepping out on him. But the idea of Monica with another man made Bucky physically ill. The thought of her in another's arms was too much to handle.

She owed him no loyalty. He had rejected her, shut her down, pushed her to move on. Married or not, he could hardly be surprised if she did find someone else.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he settled on his bunk. Soon, this mission would wrap up and he needed to focus on his next step. He really couldn't wait much longer. Sooner or later, things were going to come to a head and he needed to figure out a way to convince Monica of how he felt.

Bucky took out his journal, nearly full with almost a year's worth of entries in it. He thumbed through it, marveling at how far he'd come. As he perused page after page full of pain and rage, his fingers skimming over the words he'd put done, he got choked up.  _That isn't me anymore. I'm not that person anymore_ , he thought. He had such a hard time feeling like he'd made any progress sometimes, but as he looked through the hundreds of pages he'd filled, he could see the difference. The raw agony had muted over time, the sharp pain dulling at the edges.

He closed it, putting it on his bedside table. He remembered telling himself time and time again that it wouldn't be right to start a relationship or get tangled up with a woman considering how broken he was. But, after what he'd read, he'd come further than he ever thought he would.

Him and Monica. Their time would come.

000000

Once the mission had wrapped up, Bucky made it back in town in time to help Steve, Stacy and Monica set up the Christmas tree. There were still a couple of weeks until the big holiday, but they had delayed getting a tree or decorating until Bucky came home. Bucky was overwhelmed when he saw the piles of cookies the women had baked, the size of the tree, and the amount of gifts that had already been wrapped.

"You guys really do Christmas, don't you?" he observed, as he downed the last of his hot cocoa and washed out his mug. They had all listened to a few hours of carols while decorating and the house smelled of gingerbread from the enormous house Monica had constructed for kids in Sunday school.

"Favorite holiday," Stacy admitted.

"Mine, too," Monica agreed.

"So, where's Steve?" Bucky asked, plopping down on the couch next to Stacy and Monica. Steve had joined in on the festivities, but when Bucky came out of the bathroom, Steve was gone.

"He's boycotting," Monica said as she reached over and plucked a piece of popcorn from the bowl in the coffee table.

"Boycotting?"

"We're bingewatching Sherlock on Netflix. The BBC one. Christmas tradition. He refuses," Stacy elaborated.

"Why?" Bucky asked.

"His exact words were, 'Khan . . . the dragon . . . . now Sherlock. That man's everywhere'. Then, he went to the gym for a run." Monica giggled before grabbing some more popcorn.

"What man?"

"Benedict Cumberbatch. He's upset since Stacy has a crush on him," Monica teased.

"I do not!" Stacy blushed. "I just appreciate that he's a fine actor."

"With a fine accent," Monica added saucily. "He's British," she explained to Bucky.

"I thought women went for French accents," Bucky said, remembering his Howling Commando friend, Dernier, and all the romantic adventures that he would brag about.

"I actually prefer a Brooklyn one," Monica said with a wink.

"A woman after my own heart," Bucky said, scooching closer to his wife, putting his arm around her. She didn't flinch or pull away, instead leaning back against it.  _I'll take my victories where I can get them,_ Bucky thought, glad for her reaction.

"Always," she said with a smile.

Bucky looked over at Stacy, giving her a nod. She brightened and turned to Monica. "Big Bad Voodoo Daddy's playing at a local club on Friday night."

Monica sat up straight, glee filling her face. "They are?"

"Yeah, I thought we could all go. Double date," Stacy said.

Bucky tried to play it cool. When Steve had mentioned the concert a few days ago, Bucky had insisted they all go together. Steve then asked Stacy to be the one to bring it up, hoping that Monica would agree to go.

"Well . . ." Monica looked uncertain.

"When's the last time you got to swing dance with someone who was an authentic 1940s dancer?" Bucky asked, waggling his eyebrows for comic effect.

Monica chuckled. "Steve doesn't count?"

Bucky shook his head. "He sure doesn't. Never could get him to come dancing with me. Too shy around the ladies. Spent his time guarding the purses and watching our drinks."

"He's gotten pretty good," Monica countered.

"I'm better, darling," Bucky boasted, reaching for her hand and lacing his fingers in hers.

Monica chewed on her lower lip as she squeezed his hand. "Okay."

"Good. It's settled," Stacy said, picking up the remote. "Now, back to 221B Baker Street."

0000000

It was the best night of Monica's life.

Bucky had been an absolute dream. He was right about being a better dancer; Monica had hardly sat down once since they entered the bar.

The way he spun her around the dance floor.

The way he held her.

The way he looked at her.

The way he treated her.

It almost made her believe . . .

Monica chuckled at her own foolishness.  _How many times does a man need to tell you he's not interested until you start to believe it?_   _How much rejection do you really need?_ she thought.

She thought of her abusive ex. He said all the right things. He played the part of the perfect suitor. But in the end, he was rotten to the core, ripping her to shreds, tearing her down, causing her to hate herself, causing her to give up on herself.

She thought of Chase, spinning her head in circles, lying and letting her down.

She thought of Bucky. And the truth was, he was so very different from every other man she had ever known, he was in a category of his very own. He was kind and brave and sweet and thoughtful and dependable.

He was perfect, even if he couldn't see it all the time. Even if he didn't believe it all the time.

 _If only . . ._ she thought. She shook her head. Living in a fantasy world was what got her into the whole mess in the first place.

She quickened her step on the way to the restroom. After two solid hours of swing dancing and four diet Cokes, she had excused herself, telling the group she needed a bathroom break. She was delighted to find an empty stall, a rarity in a crowded club. Once she'd finished, she opened the stall door to see a woman staring at her across the restroom, a short blonde with streaky fake highlights swept up into a high ponytail. She was dressed more like the fifties instead of the forties, sporting a pink poodle skirt and matching tight Angora sweater. She seemed familiar, but Monica couldn't quite place the woman. She looked a bit on the younger side, but Monica supposed that she could be a mother of a child from church or from her former school.

"Hey, are you Monica?"

Monica's eyes narrowed at that as she began to wash and dry her hands. There was something about that woman and the way she asked the question which set Monica's teeth on edge. She looked into the mirror to see the woman's reflection staring at her intently. "Yes, do I know you?"

"No, but I know your husband, Bucky." She stuck out her hand to shake as she approached Monica with a sugary sweet smile. "Hi, I'm Sally."

* * *

**Author's Note-**

Does anyone remember Sally?

* * *

With this chapter, I have now posted over  **500,000 words** in the past year and a half. It has been my absolute privilege to write for you all. Your kindness and encouragement have been such a blessing in my life. If you have enjoyed this story or any of the others that I've posted, would you mind letting me know in a review?

Thank you so very much!


	40. Chapter 40

**Ch. 40**

"He's your husband, right? The one with the metal arm?" Sally asked, peering intently at Monica.

"Yes," Monica said slowly as she limply shook the woman's hand, somehow knowing that she wasn't going to like the rest of the conversation.

"You know, he almost went home with me a couple months back. But, as soon as I realized he was married, I gave him the boot. I don't mess around with married men. I'm not that kind of girl," Sally said, shaking her head.

Sally gave her a concerned look, but Monica bristled at it. Her sympathy seemed false and it made Monica feel uncomfortable. It felt like the woman was almost gleeful about what she had said, like she'd being lying in wait to spring the bad news on her.

Then, Monica realized where she recognized that woman. She was the one Bucky had taken a photo with.

On their wedding day.

At the time, Bucky had dismissed her as just some woman who wanted to check out the camera on his phone. But, it was obviously more than that.

How much more . . . Monica was sure she didn't want to know.

"You . . . you must be mistaken," Monica said with a conviction she didn't feel. Bucky had told her time and time again that he was steering clear of all women. He had protested every single time she brought up going out with someone else.

"No, I'm not," the woman said smoothly. "See." And with that she whipped out her phone, scrolling down to a photo, practically shoving it in Monica's face. "We met at this same bar and before you know it, we were heading back to my place to spend the night together."

Monica felt like she was going to be sick. They were pressed up against each other in the photo, obviously more than just strangers. The idea that Bucky would rather be with some woman he'd just met at a bar than her made her feel like she was being pulled under, like she could barely breathe. On the day they got married, he was going to go home with a complete stranger.

"I just thought you should know. I'd want to know if my man were stepping out on me," the woman said triumphantly, stowing her phone back in her purse.

"Thanks," Monica mumbled woodenly as the shock set in. There was so much more she wanted to say to the woman, but she couldn't even form the words.

"Us girls got to stick together," Sally said, before looking in the mirror and straightening her ponytail and smoothing out her poodle skirt. She reapplied her lipstick, blowing herself a big kiss in the mirror.

"Yeah," Monica managed to say as her eyes began to blur with tears.

Sally flashed her quick smile before turning and leaving.

And Monica's whole world crumbled down around her.

00000

The frigid air hit Monica like a fist as she stumbled out the side entrance to the bar. She realized that she'd left her coat on her seat back with the others, but she couldn't go back in there. She couldn't face them. She shivered, rubbing her arms to keep warm as she made her way down to the underground subway station, less than a block away. Before she knew it, she was in a subway car, jammed against a sea of people. She clung to the pole in the middle of the car, barely registering when her stop came up and she shuffled against the crowd to leave the car.

Walking from the subway station back to the Tower, her phone began to buzz in her purse. She took it out and looked down to see text after worried text from Bucky, Steve, and Stacy, obviously concerned that she hadn't returned from the restroom. Monica hesitated for a moment, feeling guilty that she hadn't had at least sent a text to Stacy so she wouldn't worry. She wasn't quite sure what she was going to write.

_-Sorry. Felt sick. Had to go home._

It wasn't a lie. She had never felt worse in her entire life.

She swallowed hard as she put her phone back in her purse. She had been living in a fantasy world. A world where Bucky really loved her. Where he would choose her over some random woman he'd met at a bar. A world where their fake marriage actually meant something.

A world where they would end up together.

She knew that one day it would all come crashing down.

She just wished it hadn't have been today.

00000

Monica opened the door to the apartment and the heady, rich scent of double fudge brownies enveloped her. She had made a pan of them for Bucky, a special treat to thank him for taking her out dancing.

She looked around the apartment, practically dripping in festive decorations with a tree so laden down with ornaments that it looked like it was going to tip over. It was going to be their first Christmas together. She'd even delayed her flight back to her parents until after New Year's, her first Christmas away from her parents. It was a decision that had caused a week long argument between her and her folks. But, she wanted to be with him on Christmas morning. She'd grilled Steve for days about Bucky's favorite holiday foods, his favorite carols, his favorite traditions, wanting everything to be perfect for their big day.

For a moment, it felt like the walls were closing in on her. How stupid could she be? Thinking that she was going to win over a guy with brownies, with Christmas nostalgia. He'd made his choice, time and time again.

He didn't need her.

He didn't want her.

She'd been doing the same thing she had done with Chase. Running after a guy who wasn't the least bit interested in her. Pursuing him long after he'd said no. Creating a relationship that existed solely inside her own head. Setting herself up to get her heart broken.  _At least my taste in men has improved_ , she thought as she chuckled darkly.  _I'm getting rejected by a much better caliber of men_.

She walked towards her room, glancing to the side to see Bucky's door wide open, his bed made up with military corners, the comforter smoothed, the pillows plumped up like a home decorating advert. Every part of the room reeked of him, the book laid just so on the nightstand, the journal peeking out bookshelf with a pen stuck in as a bookmark.

She walked over to his doorway and rested her head on the door jamb, looking over his room. She shook her head. She couldn't do this any more. She couldn't keep obsessing over him. She couldn't spend another night in the apartment. She had to get away. She'd long overstayed her welcome, mooching off of her friends for months now.

She stood up straight and squared her shoulders, brushing the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. When she finally broke up with her ex, she had to make drastic changes to stop herself from running back to him, from giving into his lies, from repeating the same cycle again and again. She changed her phone number, blocked him on all accounts, did everything she could to separate herself from him.

She'd have to do the same with Bucky. Cut all ties. Get as far away as possible.

Move out.

She went to her room and kicked off her heels and shrugged off her dress before putting on a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater. She sighed briefly before getting a large red suitcase down from the top shelf of her closet. She'd have to work fast. She wanted everything packed before they came back. She couldn't handle a big scene. She'd be gone before they knew it.

00000

It was the best night of Bucky's life.

It started off with Monica coming out of the bathroom, her hair swept up on either side in victory rolls. She was wearing a deep red dress, nipped in at the waist with a flowing skirt. For a moment, he felt like he had tumbled back in time as she beamed at him. It was 1943 and he was in front of beautiful doll and everything else was just a hazy dream.

Bucky had smiled when he saw Stacy emerge from the master bedroom, her hair a riot of strawberry blond curls, sporting a form-fitting green dress. Steve had mentioned that his wife was a dead ringer for Rita Hayworth, but Bucky never really saw the resemblance before. Now, though, she could easily pass for her twin.

"Looks like we lucked out, didn't we?" Steve said, jabbing Bucky in the ribs as he stared at his wife.

"We have, indeed, Steve," Bucky agreed as he looked over Monica, his pulse racing.

"You guys aren't so bad yourselves," Monica replied.

Bucky grinned as he smoothed out his suit. It had felt odd to intentionally purchase a pinstripe "vintage" suit, but he was glad that he had. A night of swing dancing with his best friend and their wives. It felt like a second chance at their past.

00000

The bar was packed with people when they arrived. Bucky had only been there once before, but it had been on a Tuesday, in the early evening, not a Friday night and not when a band was playing. For a moment, seeing people decked out in 40s clothes brought him back to when he and Stevie were younger, before the war, back when things seemed so much simpler.

There were some glaring exceptions. Some people didn't bother wearing period clothes at all. Some people got the clothes all wrong with skirts too short or suits cut the wrong way. Some were wearing a pastiche of different eras. He even saw a blonde in pink from across the large room, her back to him, looking more like a bobby soxer from the 50s than 1940s dame.

There was no smoke, he realized with start. Back in the 40s, a bar like that would have been hazy with the smoke from dozens of cigarettes. He remembered getting burnt on more than one occasion as a person flung their hand to the side, not mindful of the people next to him in a crowded room. Drunk people rarely are. He and Stevie never picked up the habit, despite it being nearly everywhere back then. With Steve's asthma, he wouldn't have lasted past the first puff. And well, if his best friend couldn't be around it, Bucky wasn't about to pick up the habit.

All in all, though, despite not quite recreating the past as he remembered it, the night went according to plan. The scene was jumping with more than half the patrons dancing to songs that were so familiar that Bucky could sing along as he held Monica in his arms, smiling down at her, her beaming up at him. Every moment together felt like it was out of a dream.

They were going to be together forever. He was sure of it.

000000

"Where's Monica?" Steve asked towards the end of the night.

Bucky was leaning against the bar, wondering whether it was worth it to try to get the bartender's attention and order Monica yet another Diet Coke or just wait until she got back. "Bathroom," he answered, taking a swig of his drink, humming along to the song the band was playing.

"Still?"

Bucky looked down at his watch. It had been a good fifteen, maybe twenty minutes since she'd left to make her way to the other side of the crowded bar. He shrugged. He was used to having to wait while a woman visited the powder room. "There's probably a line."

"Stacy always complains about that." Steve took a sip of his overpriced drink. "So, when are you going to tell her?"

Bucky knew what Steve was talking about. He shifted uncomfortably as he leaned in and spoke in a low tone. "Tonight."

"Finally." Steve rolled his eyes.

"You're the one who told me to win her over!" Bucky protested.

"Yeah, but that was weeks ago."

Bucky had a thousand excuses swirling in his head. Some of them were valid. Some of them weren't. The truth was, he was afraid. He felt like he only had one shot at convincing her of how he felt and he didn't want to muck it up. He took a deep breath. "Well, I'm telling her tonight."

"Good," Steve said firmly. "Christmas is coming. It'd be nice to have it all out in the open."

Stacy walked over to them, a bright yellow medium-sized plastic bag in her hands and a grin on her face.

"What's that?" Steve asked suspiciously.

"Bought myself some Christmas gifts," Stacy confessed. "I love Big Bad Voodoo Daddy merch. I got myself three T-shirts from the table they've got set up in the corner."

"You already have four Big Bad Voodoo Daddy T-shirts," Steve chided. When Stacy liked something, she really liked it. She'd buy the posters, the T-shirts, play their songs on an endless loop for days. Steve appreciated his wife's enthusiasm, even if it did mean that he had to put up with yet another acoustic version of a song that he'd heard a hundred times before.

"Now I have one for every day of the week," she said triumphantly as she showed off one shirt after another. "Where's Monica?"

"Bathroom. She's been there for almost twenty minutes," Bucky replied.

Stacy shook her head. "I was just in there. She's not there."

"Huh," Bucky said, craning his neck to scan the crowd for her. "I don't see her. She left her coat here, so she's not outside."

"That's weird. Let me text her. Although, I doubt she'll hear it with all of this noise," Stacy said, taking out her phone. Steve and Bucky followed suit for good measure.

 _-Monica, where are you?_  he texted.

A few minutes passed with no response. Bucky looked over at Steve. "Maybe we should look for her."

Steve shrugged. "Sure, buddy. Maybe she saw a friend or something."

Bucky smiled. Monica and Stacy had mentioned that they knew quite a few of the other fans at the concert, seeing them again and again over the years at different venues. He was sure that Steve was right. Monica was one of the most sociable people he'd ever met. It wouldn't surprise him if she'd recognized someone and lost track of time and he'd find her, chatting away with another devoted fan.

They left Stacy at the bar in case Monica came back. It didn't take that long to search the venue and when Steve met Bucky back at the bar, he shook his head, frustration on his face.

It was now a good thirty minutes since they'd last seen Monica. She wouldn't have left the bar without her coat. It was barely thirty degrees out.

At least, she wouldn't have left willingly.

A horrible thought hit Bucky. He remembered that Hydra had kidnapped Stacy right before their wedding. What if the same thing had happened to Monica?

His breath began to come out in pants. Normally, he could remain calm in even the most dire of combat conditions. He'd learned from his therapist how to block everything out and just focus on the task at hand. But this was Monica, and the thought of her in Hydra's hands sent him into a tailspin.

"Could it be Hydra?" He asked Steve, grabbing his arm.

Steve's eyes widened as he considered the possibility that Monica had been taken. "I . . . . I don't know. We shouldn't jump to conclusions. It doesn't seem likely, does it? With both you and me here? It's probably something else."

But Bucky's mind was already spinning out of control. Visions of Monica swirled in his head, strapped down to the machine that had stripped him of his identity. That idea that those degenerates were holding his wife captive made it hard to focus. Stacy had been one of the lucky ones. She'd escaped. He knew of other prisoners that weren't so lucky. If Hydra thought you were useful, they used you, wringing every possible piece of intel out of you. And when you ceased being useful . . . . you ended up with a bullet to the back of the head.

"There are security cameras pointed at all the entrances. We could get the owner to let us review them. We could see if she left. Make sure it was by choice," Bucky told Steve as his mind began to race as he went through one possibility after another.

Stacy touched him on his shoulder and he jumped. "She just texted me . . . She went home sick. That's weird. We would have taken her home if she wasn't feeling well," she said as she showed Bucky and Steve her phone.

Bucky's brow knit. Monica feeling sick and going home by herself, leaving her coat behind . . . it just didn't add up. He should have felt relieved, but instead a nagging sense of worry still ate at him.

"I should go home and check on her. You guys stay here . . . finish out the concert," Bucky said as he put on his overcoat and he picked up Monica's and threw it over his arm.

"You sure, Buck?" Steve asked.

Bucky adjusted the collar of his charcoal gray woolen coat. "Yeah. I just want to make sure she's alright. I'm sure it's nothing."

But as Bucky turned to go, he was filled with dread. It sure didn't feel like nothing.

* * *

 **Author's Note** -Thank you all for your encouraging words. Your encouragement means so much to me.

Once again, like I mentioned in "The Captain's Bride", I am in no way affiliated with  **Big Bad Voodoo Daddy** , but they are an amazingly cool band and I adore them. I listened to them again and again while writing this chapter. I would recommend checking them out!


	41. Chapter 41

**Ch. 41**

Bucky jogged towards the entrance, sucking his breath in as the cold air hit him as he left the crowded bar. He couldn't believe that Monica had gone home in the frigid weather, especially considering she wasn't feeling well. He quickened his step even more as he descended the flight of stairs to the nearby underground subway stop, just to see his train pull away.

He growled in frustration and then looked at the lighted sign over the platform and sighed. There was some maintenance work being done on the line and it would be another thirty minutes until the next subway train would arrive. He couldn't imagine waiting that long to get back to his wife. He was worried about her. The story of her being sick seemed off to him. He wanted to get back to her as soon as possible.

He looked at young couple who came down after him, arm and arm. The woman snuggled up against the man, smiling up at him as they waited for their train, resting her head against his shoulder. Bucky shook his head.  _That's how we should be_ , he thought. Enough with waiting for the right time. Enough with trying to find the right words. He needed to get to Monica right away.

He shifted Monica's coat to his other arm as he ascended the stairs and reached the sidewalk once again. He squared his shoulders as he started racing down the street. Steve wasn't the only one who could run fast.

00000000

Monica's fingers trembled as she packed. It was going slower than she wanted. Every time she picked up an item a wave of bittersweet nostalgia would hit her. Everything she owned seemed to reminded her of Bucky. The plum-colored dress she wore the first time they went to the senior center together. The bracelet Bucky helped her put on for her first (and last) date with Sam. The hair clip she wore on their wedding day.

She took down a photograph from her bulletin board above her desk. She hardly ever printed out any photos but this one was special. It was the one she took with Bucky and Daniella at the Central Park Zoo. There they were, smiling, arm in arm, like a family. It was Monica's secret daydream photo. She'd stare at it for longer than she'd care to admit, imagining a rich fantasy life where they really were a family. A fictional future where she and Bucky were really together.

She felt guilty and ashamed as she stared at the picture. Without even meaning to, she'd maneuvered Bucky into playing a part in her private wish fulfillment. He played the doting husband, even to the point of throwing a huge birthday party for her and giving her an engagement ring.

He had been the perfect guy for her. She remembered teasing Tony on Steve and Stacy's wedding day, saying that she needed him to invent a time machine so that she could find her own 1940s hottie. And then, six months later, there was Bucky, the perfect product of every hope and desire she never even dared to admit to herself.

But, it was all in her head. He didn't love her. He never did. He had been upfront with her from the start, simply repaying kindness for kindness. He was just being nice to her for all of the things she had done for him when he was struggling, recovering from all that he'd been through.

It was never anything more than that.

A part of her wanted to crumple the photograph up, throw it in the trash, but she couldn't bear to do it. She ended up sliding it between the pages of her favorite book, a sad smile on her face.

**_Pero que tonta eres_** , she thought, shaking her head in frustration.  _This is my ex, this is Chase, this is Sam, all over again. Creating something out of thin air. Putting all of my feelings onto Bucky. Ignoring reality. Ignoring what he's said to me time and time again. He doesn't want a girlfriend. He certainly doesn't want a wife_. She thought about Sally for a moment, primping in front of the restroom mirror.  _And if he does, it's not me. Someone like that woman, I guess. A tiny wide-eyed blonde. Short and simpering._

She looked down at her left hand. She bit her lower lip as she slid her engagement and wedding rings off of her finger and placed them carefully on her desk. They weren't hers. They never really were. She didn't deserve them. Bucky could always use them for someone else. She sighed as she surveyed the rest of her room. She needed to start packing quicker. She wanted to be completely cleared out and on her way to her aunt and uncle's house before they got back. She couldn't handle a confrontation. She wasn't strong enough to face him.

000000

Bucky was breathing hard as he ran through the streets of Manhattan, dodging bystanders on the sidewalk. It had been ages since he'd pushed himself this hard; the S.H.I.E.L.D. training seemed ridiculously easy by comparison. Block by block he picked up speed, careful not to careen into any of the pedestrians as he went. He grinned as he saw himself easily outpace the cars caught up in heavy traffic. For a moment, he debated stopping by a nearby pharmacy and picking up some medicine for Monica. He remembered Steve doing that once for Stacy when she was sick and she went on and on about how touched she had been by the gesture. But, he wasn't quite sure what was bothering Monica and something urged him to pick up the pace even more and just focus on getting back to the Tower.

By the time he arrived at the Tower, his lungs were beginning to burn from the effort. He nodded brusquely to the security guards as he entered the lobby, not pausing to chat like usual. Once he arrived at the elevator, he finally allowed himself a moment to take a deep breath. "JARVIS, eighth floor."

"Yes, sir."

When the elevator doors slid open, he strode to the apartment door, placing his palm on the device to open the door. Once inside, he saw the door to Monica's room was half-open. He walked towards it and pushed it open without even thinking of knocking. Then, he narrowed his eyes at what he saw. The walls and desk were barren, completely devoid of all of Monica's decorations and books, save for her wedding and engagement rings. There was a box to one side, overflowing with her posters and framed photos.

Monica turned around with a start when he walked in. She closed her dresser drawer and dumped her underwear into a large plastic bag. She gave him a half-hearted smile, gritting her teeth a bit. "Uh . . . hi. I hoped I was going to be done before you came back."

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked. Her suitcase was on her bed and half of her clothes had been taken out of the closet. She didn't seem sick, but as Bucky stared at her, she certainly didn't seem well.

She took a deep breath, looking down. "I'm moving out. I texted my aunt and I'm going to stay with them until I can save up enough money to move in with a roommate."

Bucky took a step back. "What are you talking about? You can't do that," he replied reflexively. If she moved away, everything would fall apart.

"I have to. I just . . . I just can't do this anymore."

"Do what?"

"This!" She waved frantically at the both of them, her voice wavering. "I can't keep pretending. I can't keep wanting to be with someone who doesn't want me back. I'm just done." She took a long, shuddering breath and sat down on her bed next to her suitcase, looking exhausted and broken. "I'm just completely done."

"So, you still want to be with me?" Bucky asked hesitantly, hope flaring up inside of him as he took a step towards her. She hadn't said anything about it since Thanksgiving and the truth was, a part of him worried that she had given up on him.

Her words rushed out as she barely took a breath. "Of course I do. I had a crush on you when you couldn't even speak. And then you flipped out when we went out on Valentine's Day and I got the message loud and clear. You're not into me. And honestly, that was fine. We could just be friends. I was okay with that. I really thought I was. You know, you kept saying that you didn't want to go out with anyone, no matter how hard I pushed to start dating someone. You were recovering from something horrible and I wanted to just be there for you." She swallowed hard and then smiled at him. "And then, you were so heroic and wonderful and offered to marry me when I had nowhere left to turn. But, the truth was, I felt guilty. Because I was forcing you into this sham where I got to pretend that you really loved me. And it was indulgent and selfish of me and I just couldn't stop myself. It was the perfect fantasy brought to life. Then, you got shot and we started getting even closer and for a moment . . . . I thought . . ." She paused for a moment and continued on in a near-whisper. "I hoped we might somehow end up together."

During her speech, Bucky's grin got wider and wider. Finally hearing that she had been sweet on him for so long was amazing. But, he felt like he was missing something. "Wait. I don't understand. What changed? Why are you moving out?"

She looked up at him and gave him a forlorn smile. "I just met Sally."

"Sally? Who's Sally?" For the life of him, Bucky couldn't remember who that could be, trying to go through anyone he'd met that would cause Monica to become so agitated.

Monica's eyes were welling with tears as pain dripped from every word. "The girl you almost slept with on our wedding night."

Bucky's stomach clenched. He could barely breathe as his mind raced, remembering meeting that woman at the bar, remembering how that night had almost ended, remembering how close he came to making a huge mistake.  _Of course_ , he thought.  _No wonder she's so upset_. "Oh, Monica . . . . I can explain."

She put up a hand to stop him. "You don't have to, Bucky. You don't. You don't owe me an explanation. The truth is you don't owe me anything." She took a shaky breath. "But, I can't do this to myself anymore. It's torture to be so near to you and yet so far. I love you, Bucky Barnes. I will always love you. But, I can't keep letting myself get hurt like this. I can't keep creating a fantasy where you and I . . . " Her voice trailed off as she interlocked her fingers and began to twist her hands together. "I can't live in this apartment anymore. I can't sleep in the bedroom next to yours. I'm losing one of the best friends I've ever had, but I can't pretend anymore. I can't keep waiting around for you to say -"

He cut her off, taking another step closer to her. "I love you."

She nodded as tears began to spill down her cheeks. "Exactly."

He grinned at her. "No, you don't understand. I love you, Monica."

She blinked. "You what?"

"I love you. For the longest time, I didn't think I was capable of love. All I felt was pain and misery and I didn't feel like it was going to get any better. Then, I didn't think was worthy of love. I let my past steal my chance at happiness. I let myself believe that no woman who knew the real me could ever love me."

"B . . . b . . . but . . . at Thanksgiving . . ." she began.

"I was an idiot. A complete and utter idiot to waste a chance with you. I realized that I loved you . . . but I was just . . ." He shook his head, angry at himself. "I don't know . . . the weight of what I did . . . who I was. I didn't want to burden you with that. Saddle you with a monster for the rest of your life."

"You're not a monster!" she protested, her eyes flying open.

He gave her an indulgent grin, knowing that would be her reaction, knowing that she would always defend him, that no matter what she would always be on his side. "I know that, now. And, more importantly, I believe it now. "

"So . . . you love me?" she asked slowly.

"I do." He walked over and snatched the engagement ring from the desk and got down on one knee in front of her. He leaned over and grabbed hold of her left hand. "Monica, I love you more than I thought it was possible to love someone. I can't imagine my life without you. And I don't want to. Will you marry me?"

"F. . . for real?" Her voice faltered.

He nodded. "For real. A real wedding. The one we deserve. And, after that, you and I together forever. You are the most amazing woman I have ever met and I don't want a future that doesn't include you as my wife."

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she cried as she began nodding furiously.

He slid the engagement ring on her finger and then tugged her close, pulling her off the bed and causing her to sit on his bended knee. She reached for him and as their lips met, an electric volt seemed to pass between them. He felt her hands winding their way through his hair, heard her sigh in contentment, smelled the lavender on her skin. After few moments, they broke apart, eyes unfocused, both breathing heavily.

"That was . . ." Bucky began, at a loss for words. "It was . . ."

"It sure was," Monica teased, cocking her head to the side.

He cupped her cheek and brought her close once more.

Someone cleared their throat behind them and they sprang apart to see Stacy and Steve framed in the doorway.

"Sorry, buddy. The door was open," Steve said, a huge grin on his face.

"Is there something you want to tell us?" Stacy asked in a teasing tone.

"We're getting married. For real," Monica said excitedly, throwing her arms around Bucky, who responded in kind.

Stacy unzipped her purse and took out a ten dollar bill and slapped onto Steve's outstretched palm. She smiled at Monica. "Steve bet me it would happen before Christmas. My money was on New Year's Day."

"You knew?" Bucky asked Stacy, giving Steve a stern look.

"Steve didn't spill any secrets. He talks in his sleep sometimes," she said with a sheepish grin. "I hounded him after that until he gave up all the juicy details. We've been waiting for you two kids to wise up and get your act together."

"Looks like we've got a wedding to plan," Steve said.

"As soon as we can," Bucky agreed before kissing Monica once again.

* * *

**Author's Note** -

**Rough Spanish translation**  - How stupid/foolish you are!

As for the next chapter, it's going to be a lovely wedding!

 


	42. Chapter 42

**Ch. 42**

Twenty minutes later, they were all gathered around the kitchen table, enthusiastically diving into a plate of Monica's brownies and sipping hot cocoa. Steve and Bucky were both polishing off their fifth brownie, while Stacy and Monica were working on their third. For a moment, no one spoke, and the only sounds were the audible sighs of contentment as everyone savored their desserts.

Bucky looked around the table and, for a moment, he was transported back to his youth. He was sitting at the kitchen table at his childhood apartment with his mother and Steve, enjoying a piece of her famous chocolate cake and a glass of milk while his mother sipped a cup of joe and looked on approvingly. For a moment, it almost hurt, the fact that his parents would never get to meet Monica, that they never found out that Bucky was finally going to settle down. They would have liked her.

He looked over at his wife. Who was he kidding? They would have loved her.

Monica put down her half-eaten treat and looked around the table. "So . . . I guess we should start planning."

Stacy swallowed the last of her brownie and washed it down with some hot chocolate. She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and nodded at her best friend. She got up and grabbed a pad of paper and pen from the kitchen counter before returning to her seat. She bit her lip as she looked down at the blank paper, tapping the pen on the table. "You're right. Um . . . so how elaborate do you want to go? It took Steve and I six months to plan our wedding and that was pushing it." She ticked off all the separate tasks on her fingers. "You've got to line up the wedding dress, the bridesmaid dresses, tuxedo rentals, the wedding ceremony venue, the reception venue, the flowers, the food, the cake, photography, videography, invitations, wedding favors, rehearsal dinner, . . . ." Stacy began to write out the list as more and more items came to mind.

Bucky blanched and his eyes began to water as Stacy went through everything in exhaustive detail. Six months. He couldn't imagine waiting that long. On the other hand, Monica deserved a proper wedding. That courthouse ceremony was a travesty and she hadn't complained a bit. "Whatever you want, darling."

Monica regarded him with a furrowed brow and chose her words carefully. "Well, do you want a big wedding? I know that Steve got to have some of his distant relatives at his wedding. That could take months to track them down."

Bucky shrugged. Having a second or third cousin at his wedding really didn't matter to him. Steve and Stacy would be there and that was good enough for him. But, he knew she was very close to all her relatives back in Spain. "What do you want? I guess we could fly everyone in from Spain. Your parents, your brother, your grandparents, your aunts and uncles, cousins . . . "

"Honestly?"

He took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Monica, I just want to make you happy."

"You already do," she said, squeezing his hand back. "I've got an idea."

Bucky swallowed hard. He could wait six months. Really he could. As much as he would love to get married within the next twenty-four hours and just start their life together, he wanted her to have the wedding of her dreams.

Monica continued, an impish grin on her face. "Two weddings."

"Two . . . weddings?" Steve asked, eyebrows raised. He obviously remembered all the time and effort that went into planning just one of them. "You sure about that?"

Monica nodded. "Well, Bucky's right. I've got a ton of relatives in Spain and my parents will want them all to come to the wedding. But, that'll take months and months to plan. So, I thought . . . we could just do a quick one first. Here in New York. At our church. Invite everyone, make it fairly causal. Then . . . ." She colored slightly, rubbing Bucky's right hand. "We could take advantage of that bed and breakfast honeymoon that Erica and Michael paid for." She swallowed, before forging ahead. "Then, probably sometime this coming summer, we'll do the second big wedding with my family back in Spain. Huge reception. The works."

Bucky blew out an audible sigh of relief. "Works for me."

"So the New York one . . ." Stacy began.

"Well, I thought we could just do it after church one Sunday. Open invitation. Maybe have some cake afterwards. I'll need to talk to the pastor, but I'm pretty sure he'd be okay with it."

_Open invitation._  Bucky smiled. That sounded like Monica. "And when would that be?"

"As soon as possible? A week or two?"

"That'd be great." Bucky paused for a moment. "Now that I'm thinking of it, I'm going to call Tony. Maybe he could set us up so that we can rent one the the SHIELD apartments in the Tower for after we get married. It'd be nice to stay close by. I mean, if you wanted to . . . .?" he asked Monica. After living either with or near Stacy for years, he assumed she'd rather rent an apartment nearby. And, Bucky had to admit, he loved the idea of having his best friend and his wife in the same building.

"Yes. That'd be perfect," she said, a bright smile on her face.

"You don't have to move out, Buck," Steve protested. "You guys are welcome to stay here."

"But, we understand if you want some privacy," Stacy said quickly, giving Steve a pointed look.

"We've imposed on you both too long already," Bucky said. "And to be honest, we could all use a little privacy," he chuckled, taking out his phone.

After a few moments, Tony picked up and Bucky put him on speaker. "How's it going, Tin Man?"

Bucky grinned. "Great, actually. Umm . . . I know it's late and all, but I was wondering if I could ask for a favor."

"Anytime, buddy."

Bucky took a deep breath. "Well, long story short . . . Monica and I really did get married just so that she wouldn't get deported."

"I knew it!" Tony gloated.

"But now, we're in love and we want to get married again. For real."

"I'm happy for you! She's a great gal. Not to mention, hot as -"

Bucky interrupted him. "Umm . . . thanks. By the way, you're on speaker," Bucky said, coloring slightly.

Tony sucked in his breath. "Oh, sorry, Monica."

Monica smiled. "It's alright, Tony. You're very handsome yourself."

"See, everyone loves me." Bucky could practically hear the smile on Tony's face.

Bucky decided to get the conversation back on track. "Anyhow, we were wondering if we could rent an apartment for ourselves in the Tower. I know that S.H.I.E.L. D. has an agreement with you -".

"No. Out of the question," Tony said, cutting him off.

"Really?" Bucky asked, his voice crestfallen.

"Yep, sorry. No way you're renting an apartment in my Tower."

"Oh, I see." That shouldn't have been a surprise, Bucky realized. There was usually a waiting list for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to rent at the Tower considering the luxury accommodations and prime location. Bucky balked at the idea of moving to another part of the city, but he guessed it was the only option.

"You will, however, accept the three bedroom apartment down the hall from Steve and Stacy as a wedding gift," Tony continued.

"Wha-" Bucky began, rearing his head back and staring at his phone.

"You saved my life. I don't forget stuff like that. I've been holding onto that apartment for months, just waiting for you to ask. I'll get it cleared out and ready for you by the end of the week."

"You don't have to -" Bucky said. He knew that Tony had given Steve his apartment as a wedding gift, but he never thought that Tony would do the same for him and Monica. He thought of it. Living down the hall from Steve and Stacy. It was an answer to prayer.

"I insist. You should know me by now, Bucky. I always get my way."

"Thank you, Tony. Thank you so much," Monica replied, her eyes lighting up.

"You're welcome. Now, you guys all need to start being fruitful and multiplying."

"Excuse me?" Bucky asked.

"Well, I just started a free daycare facility on the first floor for Tower residents as well as building indoor playgrounds on the fifth and fifteenth floors. Now, it's up to you all to fill it up with kiddos before Pepper gets any ideas," Tony explained.

"We're working on it," Steve said with a rueful grin, giving Stacy a wink.

"You better be, buddy," Tony said.

"Thank you, Tony," Stacy chimed in.

"We're all on the same team," Tony replied glibly.

"Family," Stacy corrected gently.

"Yeah . . . . I guess you're right about that," Tony admitted. "Well, I'll put the work order in on that apartment and have JARVIS tell you when it's all finished."

"Thanks, Tony," Bucky said.

"No need to say thanks. Like the lady said, we're family."

000000

They were all up past midnight, figuring out the logistics of throwing even a casual wedding together in a week or two. Then, Stacy began to yawn more than once and Steve suggested they hit the hay. After they went to their bedroom, Monica began rubbing her eyes.

"Well, I should probably get some sleep. I'll call the pastor in the morning. We need to tell him the truth. About everything," she said as she washed out her mug in the sink and set it on the drying rack.

Bucky winced. "You're right. That's not a conversation I'm looking forward to having," he admitted as he followed suit, and left his mug next to hers.

"I know. Me neither, sweetie," she replied as she walked towards her bedroom door.

Bucky caught up with her, snagging her arm and spinning her around. Before she could say a word, his mouth sought hers as he leaned her against the doorframe. Her fingernails lightly scratched his scalp as she tugged him even closer causing his pulse to race. As the kiss deepened, Bucky cursed every wasted hour that they could have been together. Then, Monica pulled away, suddenly shy, which perplexed Bucky. In the whole time he had known Monica, she had never, ever been shy with him. Not once.

She took a shuddering breath and looked down, biting her lower lip and fiddling with her engagement ring. "Um . . . . there's something I think I should tell you . . . before you get your hopes up." She gave him a tentative smile and looked as though she were groping for the right words. "Uh . . . I know that we're 'technically' married, but I want to wait to have our wedding night until it's . . . . well, actually our wedding night."

Bucky's eyes widened at that. "Of course, darling." He could see the tension melt from her body. He cradled her face with both hands and stared at her straight in the eyes so there would be no misunderstanding. "Dollface, I've waited seventy years to find you. I'd wait seventy more to be with you. Do you get that? A week or two is nothing. Nothing."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

She leaned her forehead against his. "What did I do to deserve a man like you?"

He closed his eyes, drinking in the moment. "Oh, darling. I'm the lucky one."

0000000

After they had changed to get ready for bed, Stacy looked over at Steve. "So, I've got good news and bad news."

Steve wasn't sure he was up for any bad news, but he nodded. "Alright. I'll bite. What's the bad news?"

"So, you know that trip we're taking next month? To Australia?"

"Yeah." A month alone with his wife. They hadn't had any extended time together since their honeymoon over a year and half ago. He couldn't wait. He'd lined up everything. Sightseeing. Snorkeling tours. The best restaurants.

She gave him a tentative grin. "Well, I won't be able to go scuba diving."

Steve could feel himself beginning to pout, but he couldn't help it. They'd already spent hours mapping out just where they were going to dive. It was going to be the highlight of the trip. "Oh, honey . . . why not?"

She broke out in a huge grin. "I'm pregnant!"

"What! You're kidding me! That's wonderful news!" He took his wife in his arms and embraced her. She tucked her head under his chin as she pressed against him. "Well . . . we should tell Bucky and Monica!"

She looked up at him and shook her head violently. "No, I want to wait. I don't want to overshadow their wedding."

"I'm a horrible liar, honey. They're going to figure it out."

"I don't care. I want you to try. Please," she pled.

"Alright. I will," he capitulated. "So, how are you feeling?"

She shrugged. "A little nauseous. Tired. But from what I've read, that's to be expected."

"A baby," Steve said with a smile and then realization dawned on him. "That's why you encouraged Bucky and Monica to move out."

"We'll need the space," she said. "For a nursery. Monica's room at least. Then, we can keep Bucky's as a guest room for when my parents come and visit."

"Or for baby number two?" Steve asked hopefully, rubbing her back and cocking a rakish eyebrow.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she replied with a smile.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- This chapter started to get longer and longer, so I decided it was better to split it up and post what I have rather than make you all wait any longer. The wedding will be in the next chapter.


	43. Chapter 43

 

 

 

Ch. 43

A week later as Bucky looked out at the crowd of people in the congregation, his eyes widened.  _Open invitation indeed_ , he thought. In addition to the regular church members, he could see half the retirement center, nearly everyone from the homeless shelter he and Josh volunteered at, some of his buddies from the support group, and almost every single New York-based S.H.I.E.L.D. operative, including Director Fury and the Avengers. It was so packed that it was standing room only in the back. He was glad that they had decided open the wedding ceremony up to everyone they knew, but he had a sinking suspicion that they were probably violating a half dozen fire marshall codes by cramming so many people into the converted warehouse. It was a motley mix of people, some sporting dark suits and long gowns, some wearing ripped jeans and dirty sweatshirts. And yet, Bucky felt a connection to every single one of them. In one way or another, each person in the building had touched his life one way or another in the past year, shaping him from the man he was to the man he wanted to be.

Erica and Michael were sitting near the front, their son cradled in his father's arms. Josh sat next to them, a smile on his face. In the row behind them sat Natasha and Clint, his arm around her shoulders. Next to them was Pepper in a lilac skirt and matching blouse, already dabbling her eyes with a small handkerchief. Bruce was seated between her and Betty and gave Bucky a thumbs up when he caught his eye. Sam was grinning up at Bucky, holding hands with Alice, who had volunteered with him during the church babysitting gig. Thor couldn't make it on such short notice during the holidays, but had ordered flowers for the event as a wedding gift and the heady scent of red and white roses was almost overpowering.

"Nervous?" Steve asked, standing next to him. He was wearing a tuxedo that matched Bucky's but his cumberband was dark blue instead of white.

"No . . . yes," Bucky admitted.

"Relax, buddy. Soon, it'll all be over and it'll just be the two of you," he told Bucky, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze.

Bucky's mouth quirked up into a smile.  _Just the two of us_ , he thought. Alone with his wife. He was definitely looking forward to that.

The music began and Bucky stood straighter. Slowly, Stacy walked down the aisle, wearing a deep navy empire-waisted maxi dress, her hair a wild cascade of strawberry blond curls. She was carrying both red and white roses in her matron of honor bouquet. Her steps were sure and her smile was wide as she beamed at them.

She took her place opposite Steve and then, the music changed. Everyone stood and Bucky saw his bride for the first time that afternoon.

As he first saw her, all that went through his head was a prayer. "Thank you, Lord, for opening my eyes. Thank you for bringing us to this day. Thank you for . . . . all that You've done."

Monica walked down the aisle with Tony standing in for her father, sporting a flashy velvet tux. She was wearing a sleek diamond white satin mermaid gown that hugged every curve. She had contacted Pepper to ask for help and within three days, Pepper's favorite designer had created a custom dress for her that fit her to a T.

In her hands was a bouquet of white roses so large that she looked like she was struggling to carry the cascade of blooms. Her hair was in soft curls, a diamond tiara holding her veil in place. She gave him a quivering smile, her eyes shiny and bright.

Bucky's pulse raced as he stared as his wife, his heart thumping painfully in his ears. He couldn't tear his eyes away as she approached.

"Who gives a blessing to this union?" the pastor asked as Tony and Monica stopped in front of him.

"Well, her folks do, but since they're not here, I guess I do," Tony replied goodnaturedly. He kissed Monica on the cheek. "Go get 'em, tiger."

She squeezed his hand. "Thanks. For everything," she whispered.

"That's what family does. Even the annoying loudmouth uncle types," he said with a wink before turning to go take his seat next to Pepper.

The pastor beamed at the crowd in front of him. "It is my very great pleasure to see our church packed with so many people. It's a testament to how many lives these two young people, Monica and Bucky, have touched. We were made by God to live in community with Him and with one another. As I see all the people who've come out today to celebrate this joyous union, it warms my heart. We were made to be a family. We were made to love one another and to show each other God's love and grace. That was the meaning behind Christ's sacrifice, bringing wholeness, reconciliation, renewal. We're a family, children of a loving Father, sons and daughters who were meant to live depending on and caring for one another."

He grinned down at Monica and Bucky. "This is the second time I've had the honor of officiating a ceremony that brings together a union that has quite literally spanned the century." He nodded towards both Steve and Stacy. "And I couldn't be more honored."

As Bucky and Monica recited their vows, Bucky couldn't help but stare at her. Because on the one hand, it was Monica, a woman he knew better than every other, one of his best friends, a familiar companion, a trusted pal who had always been there for him, a fierce advocate who always watched out for him. But, on the other, she was this gorgeous, amazing, enticing woman that thrilled him, a jolt of electricity passing between them whenever they touched, his heart pounding whenever he saw her.

_This is what love really is_ , he thought as they placed the rings on each other's fingers.  _The best of both worlds._  He'd always assumed that love would be all fireworks and breathless glances, and while that was definitely a part of it, it was only a weak shadow of what the fullness of love was. Because he could see her, at the birth of their first child, at the birth of their first grandchild and every moment in between. He could see sharing his life with her.

And he couldn't be more excited for it to start.

000000

Given the hundreds of people attending their wedding, Bucky and Monica had settled on just having a short, simple cake reception afterwards. The truth was, Bucky was more than eager to start their honeymoon. Tony had provided a limo, waiting outside, full of all of their luggage for their week-long vacation. Monica had told him earlier that morning that she'd packed the little red nightgown from Thanksgiving for their wedding night and Bucky had nearly choked on his coffee when he'd heard that information.

Instead of a traditional cake, they opted for cupcakes. A local bakery that Erica and Michael frequented had been contacted, but when they found out who it was for, the bakery donated them for free. It seemed that their store had been saved by Captain America himself during the battle with the Chitauri and they were eager to show their gratitude.

So, row upon row of tiered cupcake stands were set up, nearly forty all together with a variety of different flavors. A thousand cupcakes in vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, and a dozen other varieties were lined up to one side on long tables. Next to them, the church had set up coffee urns for the adults and huge punch bowls full of lemonade for the kids in attendance.

After taking a few pictures feeding a cupcake to each other, Bucky and Monica began to mingle with their guests, thanking them for attending. Monica spotted Stacy standing to one side, yawning and holding a glass of lemonade.

She tackled her friend in a tight hug, nearly spilling her drink. "I can't believe that we finally made it."

"I can. I knew you guys would," Stacy declared firmly.

"Hey, don't you want some coffee? It's fresh," Monica said, her brow furrowed.

"No. I'm good."

Monica's eyes widened. "You're pregnant?"

"What makes you say that?" Stacy countered, a guilty look on her face.

"I've known you for years and you have never, ever turned down a cup of coffee. Not once."

"I wanted to wait until after the wedding to tell you," Stacy explained.

"How far along are you?"

"Just a few weeks."

"How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? Like I can barely keep my eyes open," Stacy confessed, rubbing her eyes and stifling yet another yawn.

"You should sit down," Monica insisted.

"I'm pregnant, not infirm. I'll be fine."

"A baby? Oh my goodness . . ."

"I know."

"This changes everything," Monica said.

"Yeah."

"But for the better. More people to love. And now I get to be  **Tía**  Monica again!"

"Yes. Because I'm going to need you more than ever now," Stacy said, her eyes glazing over a bit at the prospect of becoming a mother.

"We're here for you and Steve. Both me and Bucky," Monica assured her.

"Thank you. We're going to need it," she replied as she hugged her friend tightly.

00000

"You're going to be a father," Bucky said accusingly when he tracked down Steve a half hour later. He and Monica had been taking photos with nearly everyone at the reception when she had spilled the beans.

Steve scratched the back of his neck and looked apologetic. "Sorry . . . sorry . . . how'd you find out?" he asked sheepishly.

"Monica offered Stacy coffee."

Steve shook his head, a grin on his face. "Didn't want to take attention away from your big day," he explained.

Emotion overcame Bucky and his voice wavered. "You're going to be a dad." He grabbed his best friend and gave him a hug, patting him on his back in congratulations. Then, he held the back of Steve's neck and stared him straight in the eyes. "Who would have thought it? You and me marrying best friends?"

Steve batted his hand away and laughed. "Worked out pretty well though, didn't it?"

Bucky thought about it. He thought about all the things they'd lost, the journeys they'd both been on, the trials they both went through to get where they were.

"It sure did."

00000

Snuggled in the back of Tony's limo together a few hours later, Bucky gave a sigh of relief. They were married. They were together.

"Happy, Mrs. Barnes?" he asked, turning to his wife and putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Deliriously, Sergeant Barnes," she said. "I love you."

"I love you, too." After a beat, he continued. "So, it looks like we're going to get roped into babysitting the Rogers' kids after all," he teased.

"Well," she said with a come hither grin and crooked a finger, "We'll just have to even the score," she added as she pulled Bucky even closer.

"I like the way you think," Bucky said roguishly as he took his wife in his arms.

It was the beginning of a wonderful wedding night.

It was the beginning of a wonderful honeymoon.

It was the beginning of a wonderful life together.

000000

Bucky still has good days and bad days.

He still has nightmares from time to time, even if they are few and far between.

He still winces when a blood-soaked memory from the past comes roaring back to life.

But, he's getting better and stronger everyday.

He knows that he's loved by his friends, by his wife, by God.

And, he's found that it makes every struggle worth it.

* * *

**Author's Note-**

**1\. Tía**  - Aunt

**2.** Yes, I made the colors for the wedding red, white, and blue. I couldn't resist!

**3.**  Thank you so very much for everything! I've spent over a year and a half working on these two stories and your outpouring of kindness and support has been overwhelming!

At the moment, I'm going to mark this story complete. However, I do have some very concrete ideas about Steve and Stacy and Bucky and Monica and their future families, so I am definitely thinking of expanding on their stories, perhaps with a series of short stories. If you're interested in me continuing with these characters or if you've enjoyed these stories at all, please let me know in a comment! You can always follow me on here or on tumblr (creativereadingfanfiction). 

Thank you again, for everything! You have been the most wonderful readers. I'm going to miss every, single one of you. You have been so uplifting and kind. I feel so blessed to have known you!

Again,  **the best gift you could ever give me is letting me know in a comment that you've liked this story**. Even if you haven't commented on any of the previous chapters, I would greatly appreciate it if you could leave a comment and tell me that you've enjoyed this story.

 


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